


Ad Gladium

by N1ghtWr1ter, RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/F, G!p Lexa, Gladiator AU, Lexa's Dick, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Top Lexa, Vaginal Sex, intersex lexa, kinky clarke, lexa's coalition is the resistance, the ice nation is rome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Azgeda has finally captured the leader of the last resistance against the might of their empire. Lexa of Trikru, the Stallion of Tondisi, has been sentenced to die in their fighting pits as a gladiator. She has accepted her fate, but then Clarke of Skaikru buys her life...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This here is going to be smut, with very little redeeming value (although we've got ideas for a longer story that can branch off from this one, because we're trash). As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

Dark. Hot. Dripping. Her humid cell stank of sweat and piss and worse, but Lexa didn't retch or gag. She remained perfectly still with her back braced against the scratchy stone wall. With her eyes closed, she breathed deeply in a fruitless effort to ignore the smell and calm her racing heart.

As the Heda of her people, she had never feared death. She had imagined it so many times that it felt more like a memory. An inevitability. She had been raised with the expectation of sacrifice, with the knowledge that it was just as likely she would die gloriously for her people as it was that she would lead them through the decades. The lives of Trikru leaders were often short and brutal.

But she had not expected this.

Her nails dug into her dirt-caked palms and she gritted her teeth. Nia was too cruel to grant her an honorable death on the battlefield. Instead, she was reduced to this—a spectacle of 'entertainment' for the citizens of Polis to gawk at, to shriek at in their shrill voices. Even now, Lexa could hear the distant roar. She couldn't make out the words, but she could imagine them.

They were calling for her blood: the blood of the woman who had dared to defy their Empress, the blood of the Stallion of Tondisi.

She despised that name. She was not ashamed of herself, but it was a constant reminder that Nia knew her intimate secrets—secrets that had been ripped from the lips of her dead lover Costia two years ago. That was before Nia had delivered her head in a box to Lexa’s feet, along with a declaration of war.

Lexa relaxed her sore, cracked hands.  _ Well, my love, I will join you soon enough. I knew it was only a matter of time. _

Still, she would not go to her death quietly. She had considered it, considered refusing to give Nia the spectacle she so obviously desired and humiliating her one last time in front of her subjects, but she had others to think of. Her people would want her to take as many Azgeda gladiators with her as possible. The ones who had been taken as slaves and perhaps even the ones who had escaped would want to know that their Commander had fought to her last breath.

She would do it for them, if not for herself, and she would take a few of Nia's pets to the Underworld with her to meet the vengeance of the gods.

"Get up."

Rancid water splashed against the side of her face, wetting some of the blood and grime there and startling her from her thoughts. Normally, she would have heard the guards coming from a mile away in their clumsy armor, but it didn't matter. She was chained. Her mind went briefly to the thought of strangling one of them, but there was nowhere to run afterwards. Guards were everywhere. Better to save her strength for the arena.

"I said, get up."

A booted foot collided with her ribs, already sore from older injuries, but Lexa managed to bite back a sound of pain. Grudgingly, she rose, glaring at the guard the whole time with fire in her eyes. She was gratified to notice that he clutched his spear tighter.

She stood, noticing two other guards behind the first. They watched, swords raised as the guard with the spear knelt to undo the chains around her ankles. They fell to the stone floor with a clatter and she curled her bare toes in the dirt.

When the guard rose again, he did not release her hands. Instead, he shoved her toward the door of the cell, forcing her to march. Lexa did, ignoring the sharp tip of the spearhead tickling her back. The metal was hot against her bare skin, almost like a brand.

As she made her way down the hall, the roar of the crowd grew louder. It echoed in her ears, washing over her skin and making the fine hairs prickle. Sunlight glared through a barred door at the end of the dark passageway, and Lexa was forced to squint as her eyes adjusted. A bright day, then. That might prove useful if she was able to keep her back to the afternoon sun.

At last, she came to a stop at the gated door. She caught her first glimpse of the crowd, a shifting, faceless mass in the stands. The same guard shoved her forward against the burning metal grating and began to unfasten the manacles from her wrists. Unable to resist one last insult, she made sure her elbow dug painfully into his stomach in the small gap beneath his ceremonial chestplate and the protective strips of layered metal above his groin.

The guard responded by grunting in pain and shoving the butt of his spear into the middle of her back. "Fucking Trikru bitch."

Lexa didn't respond, but one of the other guards did. "Haven't you heard? She's no bitch."

"Shut up," the third guard said. From his voice, Lexa determined that he was young, and most certainly nervous. "Did you hear what she did? She killed over a hundred of our warriors single-handed before they took her. . ."

"Floukru boatslaves, not real warriors," the first guard said. "An Azgeda pup could take her down."

Still, Lexa remained silent. With a groan, the doors began to open, cutting off the guards' conversation. The first only had time for one last whisper: "Enjoy your last breath. You don't deserve it."

Then she was shoved out into blinding sunlight, awash in the earsplitting roar of the crowd around her and choking on the dry dust and sand that flew up from around her feet.

* * *

Clarke bit her tongue behind her smile as the nobles around her chattered, holding her wineglass before her chin and only half-pretending to pay attention. She knew the importance of putting on a face—putting on a face was what had saved Skaikru from extinction—but today, the thread of her patience was already stretched thin. She almost wanted the Fates to take their scissors to it, because Ontari's laugh made her long for death, or at least deafness.

It was worse because Clarke was acquainted with her in private. Though Ontari could exchange witticisms with the best of them, though she was an expert at playing the grand game of power, Clarke knew it was all an act. She had seen Ontari close down and become as cold and expressionless as a statue when Nia no longer required her to entertain. If she hadn’t had her fingers buried in Ontari’s cunt some months back, she would have suspected that Nia's favorite pet was one of the magical bronze machines of myth, merely shaped like a human and activated only by her Mistress's command. 

The sound of more laughter had her preventing a visible wince. This time it was from Finn, a slightly more tolerable noise, though not by much. Lately, she had found even her friend and former lover's company trying. It seemed as if Bellamy and his sister Octavia—sadly not in attendance—were the only ones as dissatisfied with their new positions as fake nobility as she was. Though the three of them grumbled in private, Finn had taken to this form of glorified slavery with surprising ease. He didn't mind that Skaikru were considered second-class citizens when measured against Azgeda, because there were eleven other clans below them to lord over.

Though Clarke herself had made the decision to surrender to the Azgedan Empire instead of joining Trikru and the other clans in rebellion, that didn't mean she had relished the decision. It had been practical, to ensure the survival of her people. She had swallowed her pride and compromised—and it had paid off. She was up here, in the Imperial Box as Empress Nia's guest, while the last leader of the resistance was about to face death below.

The noise of the crowd swelled into a roar, and Clarke was suddenly very grateful that she had secured a position for herself at the edge of the box. The excitement could only mean one thing: the Stallion of Tondisi was being brought out to face her death.

She had heard the rumors, of course, about Lexa of Trikru’s extraordinary nature, but she was curious to see the woman for herself. The official position was that she was a barbarian, a warlord, the leader of an uncouth and uncivilized people—but Clarke had her own sources, who said that Lexa was a brilliant and canny politician who had managed to unite the warring clans by a combination of strength, diplomacy, and subterfuge into a powerful threat against Nia’s rule. It had taken the concerted effort of months to set the trap by which the Commander, as her people were said to call her, was caught, and she had very nearly slipped their noose at the end, killing so many of Nia’s soldiers singlehandedly that the river against which she’d made her last stand ran red.

But she had been captured at last, and now she was at Nia’s cruel pleasure. If Clarke had been in charge, she would have executed Lexa publicly, and done it quick and clean. But Clarke knew very well from her negotiations with the Empress that this was not Nia’s way. Lexa would die in an outsized public spectacle, carefully calibrated to emphasize the Commander’s strength, but ultimately prove that the might of Azgeda was irresistible. All who resisted Nia’s dominion would one day be put to the sword…or would die on the hot sand of her fighting pits.

The crowd cheered again, and Clarke leaned over the balcony to see a lone warrior stepping out onto the sand. She was clad in little more than a loincloth, a breastband, and a few thin pieces of leather armor—braces, greaves, and a lone pauldron—and she carried as her only weapons two rusty, dull-looking swords. Clarke’s fingers curled into fists despite her best attempts to maintain her outward appearance of control. Lexa’s opponents were sure to be armored and equipped with the best Azgeda had to offer.  _ At the very least, Nia could have made it a fair fight. _

“Trouble, Ambassador?” came Nia’s voice from just above Clarke’s left shoulder, where the Empress sat high on her throne, elevated above the rest of the seats in the box by a plinth. Clarke withdrew her hand into her skirts and flashed Nia a cheery smirk.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she murmured, “I fear I’m feeling under the weather. Perhaps I ate something last night that did not agree with me.”

Nia gave her a look. The night before, Clarke had been in attendance at one of her luxurious feasts—and claiming to fall sick after one of them bordered on a subtle insult.

“Or maybe the heat of the sun is making me feel unwell.”

“Perhaps you should go inside,” Nia said, but her words were careless and unconvincing, and Clarke knew that they did not truly contain an offer. The invites to this event had been very carefully given. Every one of Nia’s former political rivals was here to witness her triumph. If Clarke missed even a second of it, the consequences for herself, and her people, were certain to be dire. Nia was not the type to forget.

“I will be fine, Your Grace,” she replied, casting her eyes downward demurely, but her show of submission went unremarked. Nia’s attention had already returned to the spectacle at hand. Clarke followed suit, and found that her gaze was drawn to the powerful body of the warrior standing in the center of the ring. She was lean but clearly strong, the product of a lifetime spent outdoors, running and hunting and fighting. She held her swords with a sure, easy grip, clearly familiar with the weapons. Despite all of this, Clarke’s heart ached for her just a bit. She wasn’t small by any means, but she also wasn’t the giant that her legend had made her out to be, with arms and legs like tree trunks. She was just a woman.

A very attractive one, Clarke had to admit—it was a shame she was going to die so soon. Her eyes lingered on the muscular flare of the woman’s shoulders, the powerful thighs, the flat stomach packed with muscle. Dark, intricately braided hair flowed down to the middle of the Commander’s back, and her jawline and cheekbones could have cut diamonds. When she turned to glance back at the Imperial Box, Clarke’s breath caught in her throat. The woman’s glimmering green gaze seemed to bore into her own, as though she could not only make out Clarke’s face, but see into her very soul. 

She did not have long to admire it. The moment shattered with no more than a whisper—a soft command from Nia's platform. "Address the crowd, Ontari. There will be no more delays."

Ontari rose from her seat as commanded, and the crowd quieted, straining to listen. When she spoke, it was in a booming voice all for show, so unlike her normal diction that Clarke found it jarring even as the spectators hung on every word.

"Citizens of Polis, Subjects of Azgeda—our Empress, Nia, presents to you the final event. A spectacle of blood and death, a sacrifice to the might of our great nation. Captured from the battlefield she stained red with the blood of your friends and families, behold: Lexa of Trikru, the Stallion of Tondisi, the so-called Commander of the failed rebellion!"

The stands behind them erupted. The cheers and boos came so loud that Ontari was forced to stop for several moments until the crowd had contained itself once more. For her part, Clarke remained silent. It wasn't until she caught Nia's gaze flicking toward her that she faked a smile and clapped.

"Today, she pays for every loyal life she has taken. For her crimes against the Empire of Azgeda, Leksa of Trikru has been sentenced to die at our Empress's feet. But first, she will perform for your amusement—and serve as a reminder that none can stand against the Might of the North!"

More cheers rang out, even louder than before, and Clarke had to suppress her nausea. Still, her smile did not falter.

"Are you ready for blood?" Ontari asked the crowd.

The ocean of people squalled.

"Are you ready for vengeance?"

Clarke could barely hear her own thoughts in her head.

"Are you ready to witness the death of a monster beneath the boot of a legend?"

Clarke's gaze remained fixed on the woman in the middle of the arena. Despite the raucous noise, she remained perfectly still. What Clarke could see of her expression was stony, blank. If Lexa was indeed a monster, she was the silent kind that came upon you beneath a moonless shadow, not the howling, storming sort.

"Then prepare to witness destiny and the will of your Empress!"

With those final words, Nia rose at last. The screaming cut off abruptly. Unlike Ontari, Nia did not speak at all. She simply extended her arm straight out in front of her, and then with a single jerking motion, raised her clenched fist toward the sky.

The gates on the other side of the arena groaned open, and Clarke watched intently as three armored gladiators strode out onto the sand. Unlike Lexa, they did not remain in one place. They strutted their way to the center of the ring, muscles and skin gleaming, kicking up dust as they went. The first held a sword and shield, the second a two-handed spear, and the third a trident and weighted net.

Clarke found herself wondering if they were afraid beneath their pompous airs. If they were not, they were fools.

Once more, she studied Lexa. She still held her swords loosely at her sides, not even bothering to raise them. She seemed to be waiting for something, perhaps the enemy to attack first or a sign from the Gods. Even as the three men circled her, she did not cower. Only her eyes moved, constantly scanning, tracking the movements of her enemies.

Clarke bit her lower lip. Despite her distaste for these spectacles, she found herself strangely invested. In another life, if she had followed her heart instead of her head, she might have been the one baking beneath the hot sun, staring down certain death.

Still, there was something noble in the forsaken Commander’s bearing, something unshakable in the way she stood—and something Clarke could not help but admire. Though she did not thrill to see this woman’s blood spilled upon the sand as the crowd did, something in her did flutter. . . a feeling she was unaccustomed to. It took her several moments to try and place it. Admiration? Desire? Hope?

She couldn’t be sure, because at that moment, one of the gladiators finally took the risk and charged. Lexa moved with wings on her sandals. She spun to meet his sword with hers, a fearsome yell tearing from her throat.

* * *

The clash of their blades sent a jolt along Lexa's arm, but she was ready for the shock. Her opponent was stronger than she was—or would have been, if he had known how to wield his sword properly. She could tell from one meeting of metal on metal that he had only basic training. She doubted he was a true gladiator at all. He was probably only one of Nia's guards, a common soldier.

She was able to send him back with a single shove.

As he recovered, she gritted her teeth, eyeing the man with the net as he closed in clumsily on her left flank. Nia was playing with her. Nia was sacrificing the lives of worthless grunts to provide a greater spectacle for the crowd. Nia knew she would prevail, at least for the first few rounds, and was saving her real warriors for later. Gladiators were expensive, after all, and Lexa supposed whichever ludus the Empress had commissioned today's entertainment from hadn't wanted to lose that much coin.

The man with the weighted net threw it toward her feet, trying to trip her up. Lexa dodged, kicking up dust as she skirted around the point of the third warrior’s spear. He seemed more knowledgeable than the others, because the point danced dangerously close to her side. Even so, she was faster. She backed up, plotting the fastest way to end this stupid game. If she was to die, it wouldn’t be to these half-hearted attempts.

Before long, her opponents’ clumsy footwork left her ample opportunity. She almost felt bad for them as she drop-stepped, causing the trident-wielder to get tangled up in his own net, and then thrust her blade through his throat, sending up a spray of blood. The man with the spear tried to take advantage of her lunge and skewer her through the back, but she had anticipated him and was already spinning away. She slashed him across the bicep as she passed, and twirling to batter aside the third man’s shield and slice across his jugular.

The crowd roared, but Lexa took no notice. There was no pride in killing those whose skill was so inferior to her own. Instead, she focused on the final survivor. He was crouched warily in a position that shielded his cut, which dripped blood onto the hot sand. His spear was leveled at her, but she could see desperation in his eyes through the thin slits of his helmet, and she knew he was finished. It was easy to knock his spear out of guard position and run him through with her blade.

The crowd roared once more, but Lexa only had eyes for Nia. From this distance, she could barely make out the Empress’s cold blue gaze, but it was still full of satisfaction.  _ This was just a diversion,  _ it seemed to say.  _ Now the real entertainment begins. _

And so it did. The gate at the other end of the arena groaned open once more, revealing a massive lion. Its tawny fur gleamed beneath the sun, stretched tight over its muscles, and its three heads snapped and snarled independently of one another as it fought against the chains holding it back from entering the stadium. A stab of instinctive fear pierced Lexa’s gut. It seemed half mad, probably due to Nia’s torture, and unlike the soldiers, she couldn’t count on frightening it into hesitation.

Then the chains came loose, and the creature let out an unearthly roar from its three throats before bounding into the arena. The crowd went wild for it, shouting and stamping.

Lexa was already gone. She had noticed that the right eye on the animal’s farthest-right head was milky and sightless, and she was heading directly for that blind spot as it postured, making sure to pick up the dead gladiator’s spear on her way. The lion tracked her, growling thunderously from between its bared fangs, but she just shifted the spear to her left hand and waited, taking a knee to give herself better stability. It gathered itself to spring, and she took a deep, steadying breath.

The lion leapt at her, three heads all snapping toward her face. Its snarls choked off into a whine as her spear hit home directly under its breastbone, piercing it in the heart.  _ Lucky there’s only one of those,  _ she thought grimly, as the beast twisted in its dying throes. It nearly managed to knock her sideways, and one of its flailing paws caught her arm and ripped a claw track through her bicep, but she held firm. Soon it was bleeding out into the dirt with the rest of them.

The crowd was growing restless; as entertaining as it was, they had come here to see the Commander of the resistance killed. Lexa looked back to see Nia frowning sourly in her direction, issuing some directive to her second-in-command, Ontari. The younger woman’s voice rang out over the crowd once more:

“You’ve seen the strength of Lexa of Trikru, Stallion of Tondisi! But now it’s time for the might of Azgeda to crush her, as it will crush all enemies of the Empire! Are you ready?”

The crowd chanted in the affirmative. Lexa tightened her grip on her sword, eyes on the darkness beyond the opposite gate. Whatever was coming next was sure to be even harder to defeat than her previous opponents combined. 

At last they opened, and a lone warrior carrying a spear stepped into the arena. Unlike the gladiators Lexa had faced before, he was not heavily armored. He was dressed in the lightest possible armor, a pauldron with a bright golden buckle and a visored helmet to protect his eyes from the glare. His bare chest was covered in tattoos and scars, most of the latter decorative, and though he was not overly bulky, the lean outlines of his muscles were clear.

Lexa recognized him instantly. Even if she hadn't, the name the crowd was chanting would have informed her. "Roan! Roan! Roan!"

Her eyes flicked toward the low platform at the edge of the arena. Even from several yards away, Lexa could make out Nia's smirk of expectation. Roan was her only son, the sole heir to the Empire of Azgeda. Lexa threw her spear aside and retrieved the twin swords she had been given. Roan was no amateur, and she was willing to sacrifice the advantage of reach in order to use the weapons she was most comfortable with.

Nia had made a grave mistake sending Roan to face her, and Lexa was determined to make her pay for it.

 

* * *

 

Despite herself, Clarke leaned forward in her seat, trying not to chew on her lower lip. This was certainly unexpected. Nia was bold, but she never did anything without cause—and risking the life of her son by pitting him against a Commander she had already conquered seemed rash. She tore her eyes away from Lexa's shining form and glanced over at Nia, only to see the Empress staring back at her.

"You seem confused by my decision, Ambassador," Nia said, her tone unsettlingly measured.

Clarke considered her words carefully. "I wonder what the Prince has done to offend you."

Nia seemed to appreciate her candor. She returned the statement with a small, cold smile. "I fear not for his death. He is a skilled warrior, and the  _ Commander _ is tired. But I will admit, he is due for a few reminders. I ordered him to press his advantage when we overwhelmed Lexa's forces, but he was reluctant to sacrifice so many of his soldiers. This will teach him that some people are too dangerous to be left alive."

"I'm sure Lexa would say the same about you," Clarke said, turning back to the pit.

"Of course she would. Yet another reason for her to teach my son the same lesson before he kills her."

Clarke did not respond. She watched, transfixed, as Lexa and Roan began circling each other. Neither made any brash moves, and when the tip of Roan's spear danced toward her, Lexa had no trouble darting back. The contrast, moving lightning fast one moment and hardly at all the next, had Clarke's stomach churning. Though she knew it wasn't possible, a corner of her heart wanted Lexa to emerge the victor.

It seemed more and more likely as they traded blows. Despite Lexa's shorter reach, she had the advantage of swiftness. She didn't merely settle for avoiding Roan's spear, but countered, trying to duck beneath his guard and strike. He managed to avoid her blades, but only just. If Clarke hadn't known Nia would end the match unfairly if Lexa seemed prepared to win, she would have wagered denarii on it.

"You favor the former Commander, don't you, Ambassador?" Ontari said from beside her, speaking in a low monotone that was much more like her normal voice.

Clarke looked toward her in surprise. It was rare that Ontari engaged her in conversation at all, even when they had been wearing far fewer clothes.

"They are both skilled warriors," she said, as vaguely as possible.

"There is no need to lie," Nia said, smoothly entering the conversation. "Diminishing your enemy's skill is an insult to your own."

"Then I do," Clarke admitted. "She presses him without risking herself. She moves fluidly..." At that moment, Lexa twisted to avoid another thrust of Roan's spear. "She does not hesitate, but she doesn't rush in, either."

“Ultimately, it is a contest of wills,” Nia said, pinning Clarke with her icy gaze. Clarke counted herself relatively skilled at reading people, but when Nia looked at her like that – utterly expressionless, emotionless, impassive – she couldn’t tell what the Empress was thinking, and that terrified her. She had somehow managed to move up in standing in Nia’s court over the last few months since she’d negotiated Skaikru’s surrender, so that meant that she must have impressed the Empress in some way – or made Nia nervous enough that she wanted to be able to keep Clarke under closer observation. Either way, she was never quite certain, when under Nia’s scrutiny like this, whether the Empress was going to praise her or execute her.

“When two warriors are as evenly matched as these, it becomes a question of who has the firmer will,” the Empress continued after a long moment, returning her gaze to the combatants. Clarke quietly let out her breath in relief. “Who has the mental strength to wait until the time is right to strike. Who can wait longer for their opponent to make a mistake – because no one is perfect.” And now her eyes flicked back to Clarke, making her shiver as though a cold wind had passed over her. “Sooner or later,  _ everyone _ makes mistakes.”

The crowd roared.

Clarke’s head whipped around immediately to see what had happened, and gasped despite herself. Lexa was on the ground, swords lying several feet away from her hand, and Roan was leveling his spear at her throat. Clarke felt her heart throb in sympathy for the proud Commander, now fallen for the final time. It was a terrible shame that such a strong, graceful, virile warrior would have to perish, but ultimately the might of Azgeda must not be questioned. All who stood in their way would either have to bow before them, as Clarke had done, to save their people…or face public humiliation and death.

Yet Lexa did not look humiliated, from what Clarke could tell. The Commander’s face was calm and composed, almost as though she were not about to be killed by her greatest enemy’s son. And as Roan raised his spear, preparing to strike, it became clear that she was not. Quick as a striking snake, she jackknifed her body around and kicked the Prince’s legs out from under him. She was up on her feet in moments, driving a knee into his face as he groped for his weapon and yanking it out of his hands. With a brutal swing, she knocked him backwards with the butt of the spear. The crowd let out a collective gasp as Roan’s back hit the dirt.

Suddenly, their positions were reversed: now Roan was the one staring death in the face, and Lexa was the one standing tall and proud, her enemy’s life balanced on the tip of her spear. Yet she did not bring it down. Instead, as gladiators everywhere must do, she looked up at Nia, waiting for her decision:  _ live or die?  _ Clarke found herself so captivated by the Trikru warrior – the way her chest heaved with exertion and, she conjectured, elation at her victory; the way her hard-muscled body gleamed with sweat in the sun, like burnished bronze; the way power seemed to drape itself across her like a cloak, even though she was only still and waiting. She felt herself getting wet at the thought of that much power taking her, using her,  _ commanding  _ her. She had to keep herself from rubbing her thighs together where she sat.

“Enough!” Nia shouted, startling Clarke from her utterly inappropriate reverie. “Guards, remove Prince Roan from the arena!” The Empress was on her feet, nostrils flaring and eyes filled with cold fury. Whether Nia was angriest that Roan had lost, or that her power play had failed, or that Lexa still lived, Clarke could not be sure—but she did know that the Prince was certain to face consequences for his loss today. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ontari smirking to herself.

The guards jumped to obey her command immediately. Sharpshooters trained their bows on Lexa, while centurions leapt into the ring and ordered her to back away from her fallen foe. She did so without protest, abandoning her spear when she was told to do so. Clarke found herself absurdly gratified to notice that they appeared reluctant to come closer until she had dropped her weapon, and only approached to clap her in irons when the spear had been kicked out of reach.

Then the Stallion of Tondisi stood before Nia once more, awaiting her judgement – this time in front of all the citizens of Polis. Clarke watched Lexa closely and detected no signs of weakness in her – no fear, no fury, not even regret that she was most likely about to be executed for the crime of daring to defy the Empress. Instead, she kept her shoulders back and her chin raised proudly, looking every inch the Commander her people declared her to be.

“What fate do you decide for Lexa of Trikru, barbarian leader of the so-called Coalition?” Ontari intoned, her words sounding strangely hollow. Clarke knew she should be looking at Nia, trying to gauge her mood and what she would do, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the calm green gaze below. Those eyes suddenly flicked to meet hers, and she couldn’t help sucking in a breath as a bolt of mingled arousal and pity hit her. Quickly, she glanced at Nia, hoping she had not noticed. It didn’t seem that she had—she was too busy glaring at Lexa, hatred plain in her face.

_ That’s why she’d have been a better leader than you,  _ Clarke thought suddenly, regretting yet again that she had thrown her lot in with Nia.  _ She doesn’t hate her enemies. She just defeats them. _

Slowly, Nia raised her arm, fingers curled into a ball and thumb held outward, perpendicular to her fist. The crowd roared, and Clarke couldn’t tell at first in the general tumult whether they were calling for blood or mercy. And indeed, even Nia seemed unsure of what to do. Lexa had fought well, had defeated all of her opponents, and by the laws of the arena she was to have won her life – at least until her next bout. But this was no ordinary match, and Lexa was no ordinary gladiator. She wasn’t here to compete for glory or riches or her freedom; she was here to die. 

Unless...

In Nia's wavering hand, Clarke saw opportunity. The Empress was no fool. Even a mighty and feared ruler risked much going against the will of the crowd. It would cost Nia favor, and even tyrants needed favor as well as fear—or, at least, the successful ones did. She also risked turning Lexa into a martyr, executing her after she had clearly earned her life by the rules of the arena. There were still plenty of malcontents in the Empire who would be all too willing to use her as a symbol of Nia's corruption.

However, Clarke knew that if she could offer an alternative, she would earn both Nia's gratitude and a far more enticing prize still: Lexa herself. Though Clarke was ashamed to admit that her first thoughts were blatantly sexual, those quickly faded, or at least withdrew to a small, shadowy corner of her mind. Owning Lexa would bring her countless benefits indeed, and Clarke had learned through painful experience to seize every advantage she could.

"If I may make a suggestion," Clarke murmured before Nia's thumb could move.

"Speak quickly," Nia whispered back through the corner of her mouth.

"There is a middle ground that will serve you better than executing her. If you kill her this way, you risk further destabilizing the peace your army has only just won."

Nia gave a sidelong look that clearly stated she already knew this. "If you allow her to go free, you will be seen as merciful, but she will almost certainly cause trouble for you again. She's defied you, and that needs to be punished."

"What would you have me do?"

"Let her live, but break her. Humiliate her. Force her to continue serving as a slave and a gladiator. She will be your trophy for you to do with as you wish. The one who holds a rabid dog's leash is more frightening still."

"Let me guess," Nia said, her tone both chilling and matter of fact. "You wish to be the one holding this leash?"

"Imagine the once proud Commander of the Resistance waving a palm frond over my head," Clarke replied. "You know as well as I do how strong her will is. Let her be a slave until she is resigned to insignificance. Kill her now, and her power only grows. Besides, you can always throw more dangerous opponents at her later if you really want her dead, when the situation is less fraught."

"You have some sexual interest in her, I assume," Nia said, never one to miss the obvious.

Clarke did not deny it. "I've heard the rumors."

Nia seemed to consider her proposal. Meanwhile, the crowd waited with uneven lapses of cheering and silence. For her part, Lexa did not seem perturbed. She remained as she was, awaiting her fate.

"She will live, if she will call you domina. But I reserve the right to call for her execution at a more prudent time."

Clarke suppressed a smile. "By your will."

Nia turned her thumb up. The crowd roared. Lexa's blank expression finally broke, and she looked shocked. Clarke supposed she had been numbly awaiting death before this revelation. A certain eagerness tingled within her chest, an anticipation that was part lust—which she would do her best to dismiss—and part rebellion.

Perhaps she would soon be able to quell her regret about Skaikru's alliance with Azgeda.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, N1ghtwr1ter here! Sorry it's been so long since there's been an update on this one - I got hit with a pretty epic case of the sads this past month, but I'm starting to pull through :) If you're interested in learning how you can read Ad Gladium and other stories of ours early, or just interested in learning more, visit our tumblrs @raedmagdon and @n1ghwr1ter! And, as always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr!

When Nia’s guards surged into the arena, herding her away from their fallen prince with spears and shouts, Lexa obeyed them without question. When they ordered her to present her arms to be chained, she submitted without a struggle. When they hauled her forward to stand before the Empress, she said nothing, numbly followed their directions.

She didn’t offer a word of protest, didn’t even attempt to defend herself, because she knew that no matter how her fight with Roan turned out, her fate was already decided. Nia could not afford to let her leave the amphitheater alive. She waited to be forced to her knees, a sword placed at her neck, as Nia’s sentence rang out over the crowd. She expected her life to end within minutes, and she had already given herself up as lost.

She did not expect the waiting to go on for so long, however. When she looked up, Nia appeared gripped by indecision, her lips pressed tightly together as though she were struggling to hold back a snarl. She also did not expect the blonde woman whispering rapidly in the Empress’s ear. _Clarke kom Skaikru._

Now, that was interesting.

Lexa remembered what she knew of the clan’s Ambassador. She had courted Skaikru as she had all the rest of the clans for her Coalition to stand against Nia, but before her emissaries had managed to reach their capital, Arkadia had announced their alliance with Azgeda. She had been disappointed, since Skaikru were smart fighters, always coming up with new technology that managed to turn the tides of battle in their favor, but also unsurprised. For all of their ingenuity, they were a small clan, and they shared a border with Azgeda as well as Trikru. It was too much to ask that they be the first to stand against the rising tide of the Ice Nation.

And yet here was Clarke of Skaikru, daughter of the clan’s Chancellor, muttering frantically in Nia’s ear. The Empress’s hand shook with the clear desire to declare Lexa’s death, and for her part, the Commander could not fathom why it had not been decreed already. It was cruel to prolong her final moments before she would see her beloved Costia again.

She was utterly unprepared for the Empress’s thumb to tilt upward. Her jaw dropped open as the crowd roared its approval—she had fought well, and they no doubt wanted to see her do it again in the future. She shut it a second later, but her mind whirled with confusion as she stared up at Nia’s balcony. The smile on the Empress’s face was more like a grimace. Nia clearly wasn’t pleased about letting Lexa keep her life, but there was no getting around it: she was going to live, for at least a little longer.

The Empress turned and left the box, nodding to Clarke. The Ambassador bent her head to her sovereign as she passed, but as soon as she was gone, her eyes flicked back to meet Lexa’s. She felt, suddenly, as though their gazes were two magnets that had suddenly discovered an inescapable attraction—she could not look away from Clarke, and the Skaikru woman did not seem capable of doing so either.

Through the fog of confusion and noise and exhaustion, Lexa managed to realize one coherent thing: _She saved my life._ But as the guards began marching her back into the dimness of the tunnel, she could not for that life fathom why.

* * *

Clarke ran a cool, damp cloth over her face, wiping away sweat and the running remnants of her makeup. It came off easily, a testament to how hot the day had been despite the shade of Nia's imperial box. Briefly, she considered calling for a cosmetae to reapply it, but decided against it. Though she recognized the importance of looking the part of the domina when she had Lexa brought to her rooms, Clarke wanted time alone with her thoughts. They had her feeling crowded enough in her own head without one of Nia's silent, frightened women flitting about her in close quarters.

Instead, she reapplied the basics herself, starting with a white foundation. She peered into the mirror, inhaling the scent of honey and rosewater mixed with chalk. Her own reflection, however, could not hold her attention. She closed her eyes, picturing Lexa instead—the way she had shimmered in the sun, the way her muscles had moved...

She set the brush down and reached for the rouge instead.

Lexa had all the definition of a statue, but when she fought, she shifted like water. She was fluid and fierce, and in the heat of battle, she was unstoppable—or so she had seemed when Clarke watched her. She could only hope some of Lexa's fighting spirit remained even after the day's events.

Next came her eyes. Clarke applied the kohl quickly to darken her eyelashes and brows. Once that was finished, she dusted the lids with blue. Raven always said that blue was one of her better colors.

_Why am I trying to impress Lexa?_ Clarke asked herself. _She’s my slave now. She has to hear me out, to consider what I can offer. . ._ But despite all that, she felt a strange flutter in her stomach.

She shook herself. Her lust would be her downfall if she allowed it to control her actions. Though she hesitated to admit it, she had saved Lexa on more of a merciful whim than to increase her political standing. In truth, she found the games of Nia’s court a chore at best, sickening at worst. This strange and sudden onset of sympathy was mildly terrifying to her logical mind.

Narrowing her focus, she looked to the mole above her lip. After a moment's consideration, she chose not to cover it. Lexa was in no position to judge one small flaw on her face. She put the cakes of makeup back into their cases and washed her hands before applying a thick layer of rosewater perfume. Thanks to the heat of the day, she would need it.

Once more, she found her mind drifting. How would the Stallion of Tondisi smell? Of sweat? Of blood? Of death? Her nails would be cracked and caked with dirt, but her hands...

Clarke swallowed. She rose from her chair and swept toward the door of the small cosmetics room. As she anticipated, a servant was nearby, dressed in thin white fabric that managed to be modest and tantalizing at the same time. "Echo," Clarke said, drudging the girl's name up from memory even though it wasn't necessary, "have my new slave brought up to my rooms. Now."

“At once, Era.” Echo bowed and retreated from the bedroom on silent feet.

Clarke waited uneasily, considering how best to position herself. Even though Lexa had fallen so far, Clarke still found herself considering ways to capture the disgraced rebel leader’s attention. In the end, she decided to do nothing at all. Lexa had seen war and other unspeakable things. She had survived the arena. She probably wouldn’t care for such a dance anyway.

Instead, Clarke exited the bedroom and stepped out onto the adjoining balcony. The sun was setting over Polis, clasping it with glowing fingers of red and gold. She watched them grasp at the shadows between the buildings as torches winked to life one by one far below, trying to put Lexa from her mind for a few minutes. But that was a fruitless task—as fruitless as the way the sun clung to the horizon as the blue of night swept in.

“She’s here, Era,” Echo announced, startling Clarke from her thoughts and making her whirl around. She composed her features swiftly, stopped herself from brushing her fingers nervously through her hair and ruining her carefully styled curls, and then nodded at the servant to open the doors to her chamber.

The first thing she noticed was the clanking of chains. The heavy double doors swung open, revealing the Commander—bound hand and foot with chains that were connected to a thick iron collar around her neck. There was so much metal on her that she was forced to shuffle, unable to take full strides. As if that wasn’t enough, she was also flanked by two hulking guards, both of them holding spears and eyeing their captive nervously. Clarke would have found it ridiculous if she hadn’t seen Lexa’s performance in the arena only a few hours ago. Instead, it created an aura of danger that made a delicious thrill coil in Clarke’s stomach.

Still, it wouldn’t do for Lexa to see the effect her presence had. Clarke raised her chin and adopted a haughty expression, suitable for a noblewoman addressing her new human property. She firmly suppressed the understanding that doing so, when coupled with the direction she had angled her body, meant that her figure would be highlighted strikingly against the setting sun. But to her annoyance, Lexa gave no sign that she even noticed Clarke’s presence. Her eyes were on her feet, making sure that her chains did not trip her.

As she drew nearer, Clarke could see the signs of wear in the gladiator’s frame. Although someone had clearly made a cursory effort at swabbing the dirt and blood from her face, there was a bruise swelling along her cheek where she had taken a hit from the butt of a weapon, and dried blood still clung to a nasty cut on her arm. Clarke remembered how she’d flinched when she’d seen Lexa take the injury, and how her eyes had immediately darted to Nia to see if the Empress had noticed her empathy for the enemy. She’d thought she was safe then, but the unexpected stab of sympathy she felt upon seeing Lexa’s powerful body so burdened by chains, her shoulders braced against their weight and exhaustion plain in her wan features, made Clarke seriously question that assumption.

Once the Commander had made her way to the center of the room, one of the guards barked, “Kneel before your domina.” When Lexa was slow to respond, he and his companion each placed a heavy hand on one of her shoulders and forced her to the floor. She hit the ground with a grunt, pain flashing briefly across her face, and Clarke’s heart stung again.

_Enough,_ she told herself harshly. _She is your slave. You can’t show weakness in front of her._

That idea went out the window when Lexa’s eyes finally met hers. Clarke sucked in a breath at the intensity of the Commander’s green gaze. It wasn’t defiant, or fearful, or curious; it simply _was_. It was the look of a woman who had accepted her fate, but had not been broken by it—who could not be broken by it, or by anything. Clarke felt heat coil to life in the pit of her stomach once more and prayed that her neutral expression held.

“That’s enough,” she told the guards sharply, when she was certain her voice wouldn’t shake. “Such roughness isn’t necessary...and neither are those.” She gestured to the chains around Lexa’s ankles. “Remove them.”

The guards looked at her in shock. “But, your ladyship—”

“She’s dangerous, I know,” Clarke said briskly, brushing aside their objections with a wave of her hand. “But unless you think she’ll somehow manage to kick me off this tower, I think I will be fine if you leave her hands bound. The rest is...unnecessary.”

Truth be told, a guilty part of her had been reluctant to order the removal of Lexa’s bonds at all. The sight of that much power in chains called to mind the way the Commander had moved in combat, all fluid grace and contained ferocity. It was making her smallclothes uncomfortably damp, her nipples chafing against the fabric of her dress, but she pushed her inappropriate desires aside. She needed to maintain the status quo between them, at least until the guards had gone.

"Leave us," she said, before she could think better of it. The flame of impatience burned within her, and if her mask did slip, the last thing she wanted was for Nia to hear whispers of it.

The guards paused in the middle of removing Lexa's final shackle. Obviously surprised, the first looked up at her with a furrow in his brow. "But Era. . ."

"This woman is no threat to me," Clarke insisted. She gave the guards what she hoped was a smoldering look, one that wasn't entirely faked. "Besides, I desire her company _alone_."

That seemed to do the trick. The guard and his companion chuckled with understanding. Although it was certainly scandalous, it was also far from unheard of for a member of the nobility to 'indulge' with slaves. In fact, it was almost expected. As long as there was a halfhearted veil of secrecy over such things, even the barest attempts were accepted, only to be whispered about as part of idle court gossip.

"As you say, Era," the second guard drawled, tinging on disrespectful. His eyes darted between them and Clarke had to hide her discomfort.

Lexa gave no reaction. Her eyes burned as always, but the prospect of sex with a noblewoman did not seem to arouse her emotions one way or the other. She didn't even show surprise, and Clarke wondered if she was resigned, or simply waiting for an opportunity to change her fate. Clarke tried not to consider what Lexa would think when she didn't follow through on her word.

"You may remain in the hall if you think Nia would desire it," Clarke said, waving them away.

The guards bowed and retreated, leaving Lexa free except for the lightest set of shackles around her wrists. "Probably a good idea," Clarke heard one of them mutter in what was clearly supposed to be a whisper to his companion alone. "I hear the Stallion's a wild one to mount."

For the first time, Lexa's face twitched. That comment had gotten to her more than any of the others, and the flame in her glittering green eyes blazed brighter before retreating. Her teeth clenched the slightest bit and the line of her shoulders tensed.

Clarke made a mental note for later. Obviously, Lexa did not appreciate the nickname.

"You may leave too, Echo," Clarke said, dismissing the last remaining person in the room. "I am finished with you for the evening."

"Era." With a dip of her head, Echo slipped out after the guards—probably to report to Nia all that she had observed. Clarke didn't mind. Nia wouldn't find out anything she didn't already know, or at least suspect.

The door shut, leaving the two of them alone at last. Lexa remained perfectly still, somehow managing to portray an aura of power even on her knees. "You may stand if you wish," Clarke offered. Though she admired the image, she didn't want to confirm the guards' worst thoughts about her morals. The disgraced Commander clearly had feelings, if not her freedom.

Lexa stood, but she took her time doing it. She didn't snap back to her feet as if she had been given a command, but moved slowly and carefully, as if waiting for some kind of trick. She scanned the balcony nervously, peering into every corner without actually moving her head.

"There are no assassins here," Clarke said, taking a guess as to her thoughts. "Nia has given your life to me. For now, it's safe."

Lexa's face softened for the briefest of moments. Her lips parted as if to ask a question, but she remained silent.

The look was easy to translate. "You're wondering why I saved you."

"Yes."

It was the first time Clarke had heard Lexa's voice, and it took her completely by surprise. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but not the sharp, commanding edge it contained. Even in shackles, Lexa had the bearing of a leader.

"I'm not entirely sure myself," Clarke confessed. "Part of it is obvious. You are one of the few people in the world Nia cares about enough to hate. Owning you gives me some power over her, power that could save my life one day."

Lexa seemed to accept this. Clarke interpreted her next look as one of respect.

"The other part is...an emotional reaction. When Nia offered an alliance with Skaikru, I considered refusing her and joining you instead. If I had, I would have shared your fate in the arena."

"So you pitied me," Lexa said. Her voice was cold, the glimmer of respect gone.

"You have no need for my pity," Clarke said. "I will, however, offer you my help, and I have already saved your life once. I suggest you start treating me with a little more deference, especially since I am to be your domina."

Lexa seemed to consider the word. "And will you make me fight in the arena again?"

"Nia will probably expect it," Clarke said, the same kind of non-answer she was used to giving as Skaikru's Ambassador. "For now, you will wash, and I will look at that cut on your shoulder. It needs tending, or it will get infected."

That took Lexa by surprise. Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. When Clarke took a step closer, she didn't back away toward the railing of the balcony, though Clarke could practically see the thought cross her mind. "Don't get any ideas about pushing me over the edge,” she said to Lexa. “Then you really will die a painful death."

Lexa snorted, and Clarke felt strangely pleased with herself for earning the laugh.

After a moment of hesitation, Clarke reached out to touch Lexa's good shoulder. The slave flinched under her touch, but didn't pull away after the initial jolt. Gently, Clarke led Lexa from the balcony and into the antechamber. "You should take off your clothes," Clarke said as they stepped inside. "They're filthy."

Once more, Lexa looked uncomfortable. Her reactions were subtle, and they lasted for only a split second each, but Clarke was staring so intently that she caught every one.

"The outer ones, at least,” she relented, doing her best to quell her selfish disappointment.

Clarke led the way through a series of heated rooms and into her bathing chamber. The large pool set into the floor was already filled with steaming water as she had ordered, and her skin itched to be immersed. As she made her way to the edge of the bath, the slap of bare feet and the quiet clank of metal told her Lexa was following. Slipping the straps of her gown off her shoulder, she let it fall to the floor. There was a sudden quiet intake of breath, and the chains rattled as though the Commander had stumbled; Clarke allowed herself a slight smirk before looking over her shoulder.  
  
“Well, are you coming in? I’m sure they haven’t bathed you since they caught you. You must be dying for a wash—unless your people are the savages I’ve been told they are.”  
  
Lexa’s eyes flashed at her for a moment, but she swallowed back whatever retort had sprung to her lips, and began the awkward process of removing her clothes. The tattered tunic and ripped trousers she had worn fell away, revealing the toned, powerful body that Clarke had so admired in the arena. Now it was her turn to suck in a breath, her nipples hardening despite the warmth of the air. She had enjoyed the lean limbs and flat stomach she had seen on display during Lexa’s fight, but now there was so much more she wasn’t sure where to look first.  
  
Clarke took in Lexa's shoulders—slim, but clearly strong, muscles moving fluidly under her skin. It was scored here and there with scars and flecked with dirt, but overall looked incredibly soft. Clarke’s fingers itched to trace the pale lines of old wounds and the much darker lines of tattooed ink, uncovering the mysteries of Lexa’s body. The Commander turned aside to remove her breastband, highlighting the shifting muscles of her back, and Clarke’s mouth went momentarily dry. When she turned back around, revealing a pair of firm, high breasts, it started watering with her desire to draw them into her mouth and taste them.  
  
_Enough!_ Clarke told herself firmly. _That's not what you're here for._ But she found herself doubting her own assertion as her eyes, seemingly of their own volition, traveled lower, along Lexa’s firmly-cut abdomen and even further down, to where a loincloth covered the only part of her as yet revealed. Clarke swallowed hard.  
  
“Did you want me to remove this too…Domina?”  
  
There was only the barest amount of hesitation in Lexa’s voice before she said Clarke’s title, but it was enough for Clarke to understand what she was asking. _Just how much like a slave are you going to treat me?_ Lexa’s body belonged to her, and by law she could tell her to do whatever she wished, but—Clarke shut her eyes.  
  
_That's not what I want._  
  
Clarke took a shaky breath. If she was being honest with herself, she wanted Lexa. In spite of the rumors, or perhaps because of them, she ached to feel the Commander above her, within her, claiming her hard and fast, using her body with no concern but for her own pleasure…but it wouldn't truly be for Lexa’s pleasure alone, would it, if it was by Clarke’s order?  
  
_No. You need to collect yourself and convince her to trust you before anything. Don't think about her grabbing you, bending you over the side of the pool…_  
  
Clarke forced her eyes open with a gasp. The images in her head had become far too vivid, and she knew the wetness flowing between her legs was most definitely not just water. Lexa was still staring at her intently, her face just as is inscrutable as before, both curious and entirely uncaring about her fate. Clarke realized with a blush that she had yet to answer.  
  
“No,” she stammered, then firmed up her voice before continuing. “Keep it on if you wish. But I will insist you come in here so you can get clean, and I can make certain that cut of yours does not get infected.”

Lexa seemed to accept this. Her next breath was visible, but not audible, a slight rising of her tense shoulders and an expansion of her chest. She took a single step into the water without removing the last of her clothes.

Though she tried to maintain at least some indifference, Clarke was fascinated. She watched as Lexa descended the marble stairs and disappeared inch by inch. For once, Clarke wasn't grateful for the heated water Nia's servants had brought. She wanted a clear, unobstructed view, but wisps of steam still clung to Lexa's skin along with the dirt and dry blood, blurring her edges.

She swallowed hard. It would be a struggle to concentrate on washing herself.

* * *

Lexa did not understand Clarke of the Sky People at all.

She did not understand why this woman, who was ostensibly her new owner, was treating her this way. What was she to be? A slave? A prized pet? A bargaining chip? Some kind of sexual plaything? Clarke's smoky blue eyes held no secrets when it came to her desire or her curiosity, but she had not pushed for her own selfish satisfaction either. She had allowed Lexa to keep her loincloth instead of demanding its removal.

Their brief conversation so far had raised more questions instead of providing answers. The only thing she had gleaned was that Clarke herself did not entirely know her own purpose, and that Clarke was no friend to Nia. That much was obvious. Lexa remembered the noblewoman's words: _"Owning you gives me some power over her, power that could save my life one day."_

So, Clarke collected power. That, at least, she could understand and respect. She admired those who could survive, and though part of her resented Clarke for working with Nia instead of resisting her, the logical part of her had considered similar options. Her childhood mentor Anya and her former adviser Titus had encouraged her to submit to Nia's rule. But for one of the only times in her life, she had followed her heart. She had put her people's freedom above their safety and her own.

But it had been for nothing. Her people were enslaved, and she. . . well, she had no idea how safe she was. That depended on Clarke.

"Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to get in?" came the Skayon's voice, amplified slightly by the room.

Lexa blinked. She had been lost in her own head, a dangerous place to be. She needed to proceed with more caution.

She considered Clarke, who had begun lathering her limbs with oil. Her arms gleamed in the low light of the candles and Lexa tried not to take notice of the way the shadows danced across her skin.

Clarke was beautiful. There was no doubt of that. Her shape was soft and pleasing, all graceful curves and smooth, unblemished skin, her golden hair a gorgeous rarity. But Lexa knew little to nothing about her, and there were many other beautiful women in the world—none more beautiful than the lover she had lost. Beauty was the least of her concerns. She hadn't even expected to see nightfall today.

Although she might force herself to focus on abstract concepts like survival all she liked, she couldn’t suppress the way she twitched as Clarke turned to face her fully, hands on her hips, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched gracefully. The new position brought her breasts into prominent view, and Lexa had to choke back a groan at the sight of the firm, ample handfuls, capped with puckered pink nipples that were surely only that way because of the very slight chill in the air. Lexa herself couldn’t feel it—if anything, all the air seemed to have gone out of the room, leaving it and her breathless—but it was an easier explanation to bear than the idea of her new mistress’s desire.

Swallowing hard, she averted her eyes as she clambered awkwardly into the bathing pool. The submissive behavior did not come naturally to her, as she had been raised from birth to command, but if it would save her from a mortifying physical reaction to Clarke’s body, then she would make certain she learned quickly. _Besides,_ she told herself as she reached for a sponge floating on the surface of the water, _if you are to survive as a slave, you had better learn these behaviors, and quickly._

It soon became clear, however, that adjusting to life as a slave would not be so simple. As she set about trying to clear the worst of the grime and blood from her skin so she could attend more closely to her wounds, she found herself hindered at nearly every turn by the chains looped through the manacles around her wrists and neck. They hampered her reach in a way that she wasn’t used to, so that as she twisted around to scrub her hip or back she often wound up jerking her head painfully to one side.

She briefly considered asking Clarke to remove at least one of the manacles to make the process easier, but dispensed with the idea almost instantly. Her new domina had shown what she most likely considered extreme liberality in permitting Lexa to walk unhindered; there was no chance that she would expose herself to the danger of allowing her the use of her hands.

She had briefly considered killing Clarke, once the guards had left, but she had thrown out that idea very quickly as well. Even if Clarke wasn’t quite the soft noblewoman that she appeared, Lexa would easily be able to overpower her and either strangle her with the chains, drown her in the bath, or some combination of both. After that, however, the plan quickly unraveled. She didn’t know the layout of the Skaikru embassy well enough to be confident in evading detection, and while she was confident that she could prevail over one naked girl, she didn’t fancy her chances against the cohort of armed guards she would face in attempting her escape. She might be able to catch one or two by surprise, but if one of them survived long enough to raise the alarm, she would be discovered and swiftly recaptured. Even if she managed to escape the embassy without being caught, that would still leave her nearly naked and chained, weaponless and alone on the streets of Polis…

No, there was no way that attempting an escape now wouldn’t end in her being brought back before Nia to face the Empress’s concept of “justice.” So she would bear this indignity, and all of the others to follow, until a better opportunity presented itself. She had been in impossible situations before and she had prevailed. As long as she focused on what truly mattered—survival—she would make it out of this one too.

“Do you…can I help?”

It was the tentativeness in Clarke’s voice more than anything that made Lexa jump, nearly dropping the sponge. She hadn’t expected it from the smart, self-assured woman who, she realized suddenly, was standing a lot closer to her than she had been the last time Lexa had allowed herself to look. _I must really be tired, if I am so sloppy as to not notice her getting close enough to kiss me,_ she thought, then cursed herself for the observation.

Clarke cocked her head, and Lexa realized that she must be waiting for a response. “If that is your will, Domina,” she croaked out, her voice roughened by disuse.

Clarke frowned. “I mean, if you don’t want me to, I won’t. It just looked like you were having some trouble, what with…” Her voice trailed off, and she gestured to the chains. It might have just been because of the room’s heat, but Lexa thought she detected a blush rising to her cheeks. It seemed that Clarke wasn’t any more comfortable with her new role of mistress than Lexa was with her own of slave.

To her own disgust, Lexa decided to take pity. “I would be grateful,” she said quietly, and watched as a smile flickered swiftly across Clarke’s face before she could suppress it. The expression made her face momentarily even more beautiful than before, if that was possible, and as Clarke drew nearer, Lexa doubted once more her ability to control her body’s reactions. She sucked in a breath and held it.

Her fears were confirmed when Clarke's fingertips grazed her arm. Like the touch on the balcony, it sent a powerful shock through her. For the past two years, physical contact had not been a part of her life. People only touched her to wound her, to hold her down, to try and take her life, just as the warriors in the arena had done. Having someone's hands on her, even on a safe part of her body like her arm, sent her into a tailspin.

She pulled back.

A wrinkle of confusion and concern creased Clarke's brow.

Lexa's stomach churned. Clarke had offered assistance, she had consented. She gave Clarke a look—not of apology, exactly, but of acceptance—and held her arm out the slightest bit for another try. Clarke touched her again, but far more cautiously, using the sponge rather than her hand. Lexa remained stiff as it rasped over her skin. It felt like centuries since someone else had washed her, since Costia had...

Clarke must have noticed the bobbing of her throat.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No."

Lexa was pleased with the steadiness of her voice. It was as smooth as the surface of the water around her waist, showing nothing of the swirling storm of emotions beneath.

Clarke did not respond except to continue her work. Slowly, the streaks of grime and dried blood disappeared from Lexa's arm. Clarke worked carefully around the wound near her shoulder, making sure not to run any oil near it. She squeezed the sponge out over it, letting a few droplets fall, and Lexa tried not to wince. Sometimes, small injuries were more painful than serious, life-threatening ones. They were a constant annoyance that could not be adjusted to.

"I doubt you'll have much of a scar," Clarke said as she examined it. She abandoned the sponge and probed with her fingertips. "The skin doesn't feel hot. With a poultice, it shouldn’t get infected."

Lexa nodded. Then, to her surprise, Clarke moved on to her face.

The gentle touch nearly sent her hurtling back in time two years. How long had it been since someone had caressed her cheek? But Clarke wasn't caressing her, merely examining the injury near her eye.

"It's only a bruise," Lexa said. This time, she couldn't keep her voice from shaking.

"Still."

With Clarke's face hovering close to hers, Lexa could see her in exquisite detail. Beneath the dust of her makeup—recently applied, though Lexa had no clue why, if Clarke had been planning to bathe anyway—there was something else. Something inquisitive. Lexa found herself curious about what Clarke would look like without the mask. The dark mole above her lip was one hint that the noblewoman hadn't bothered to cover. It was almost a statement—of Clarke's confidence, of how she didn't need to strive for perfection like other members of Nia's court.

Lexa held her breath. The perfumed oil gleaming on Clarke's skin was drifting too far into her nose.

Eventually, Clarke seemed to finish her inspection. She set about the work of scrubbing the rest of Lexa's body with a strange mixture of tenderness and efficiency. She did not linger as a lover would, but washed her upper body more as a healer might, with unselfish consideration.

It was not the treatment Lexa had been expecting. From the hunger in Clarke's eyes, she had anticipated something more lustful, more selfish. But somehow, even though Clarke had shifted into viewing her as more of a patient, Lexa found her more primal thoughts drifting in that direction anyway.

She stirred beneath her loincloth when Clarke brought the sponge too close to her breast. The ache there worsened when Clarke's attention moved to her stomach. She tensed, and this time, she did see a reaction from Clarke—a flicker of clear desire as her abdominal muscles stood out. But Clarke moved no lower, seeming to resist the pull that was so obvious on her face.

Lexa was relieved. And also disappointed, in a hollow, confusing way.

Clarke backed away, reaching for the strigil. "Would you like me to use this?" she asked, holding it up.

Lexa shook her head. The thought of Clarke scraping its edge across her skin made the hairs behind her neck prickle.

"Then let me finish and I'll bandage that shoulder."

While Clarke had been swift with her, Lexa noticed that she took time with her own cleansing ritual. She scraped the edge of the strigil slowly along her limbs, making sure to remove every last bit of oil. Her skin no longer gleamed, but the perfumed smell remained, drifting up from the cloudy water beneath them. Lexa's gut twisted into an uncomfortable knot. She made to back out of the water, but then remembered that her loincloth would cling.

That was another issue.

Nia knew—and so the whole country knew—that she had been born with a body different from most women. Though it was obvious in the cruel nickname they had given her, she had no wish to confirm the rumors to Clarke. She also had no wish to speculate on how Nia had discovered such an intimate detail about her. There was only one source the Empress could have ripped it from.

She was not oblivious to Clarke’s curiosity about her. She had seen where Clarke’s eyes kept darting as she stood above the pool, and she had not missed the Skayon’s hesitation before she had told Lexa she could keep her loincloth on. It had been a long time—a very long time—since Costia, and Clarke was a beautiful woman. Had the circumstances been different, she might have been tempted…

_Oh, don’t lie to yourself, Lexa,_ came a gently mocking voice in her mind, one that sounded disturbingly like Costia’s when she was amused. _You_ are _tempted. And it_ has _been two years since you’ve even looked at another woman that way._ It wasn’t for lack of interest on the part of other women. More than a few girls had found their way into her tent while she was out on the campaign trail, but she had sent all of them back to their own beds as kindly and gently as she could. She hadn’t been ready. She _still_ wasn’t ready.

“Now, let me look at your arm,” Clarke said, startling Lexa out of her thoughts. All of a sudden, she was a lot closer than Lexa was ready for her to be. She clenched her jaw, staring blankly ahead as Clarke circled around to inspect her wound. Her fingers were unexpectedly gentle and sure, and Lexa realized she had felt hands like this on her many times before.

“You have a healer’s touch,” she said, her voice sounding like stones grinding together.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clarke nod.

“My mother was a healer, before she became the Chancellor of our people. She taught me quite a bit.”

Clarke swiftly and expertly cleaned out the cut, causing Lexa the minimum amount of pain possible, and then bound it with a fresh rag. “There, you should be all set. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow to make sure it’s not getting infected, but I doubt it’ll be a problem. You’ll be back in fighting shape in no time.”

Lexa nodded woodenly. “Thank you.”

She dared to glance at Clarke, and it turned out to be a mistake: Clarke was even nearer than before, her eyes so wide and blue, deep pools that Lexa couldn’t look away from. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as though in anticipation of a kiss, and Lexa felt the urge to give her one. She noticed Clarke’s breath coming faster, and found that her own was too. She was close, so close that Lexa could just reach out and take hold of her waist—

_Clink._

The sound of the manacles at her wrists as her hands stirred just the barest amount brought her back to her senses. “I should—” she said inanely, as though she had anywhere else to be, as though she could go anywhere other than at Clarke’s pleasure.

Thankfully, Clarke seemed to be feeling just as awkward - a blush spread becomingly across her cheeks, and she muttered, “Yes, let’s—” as she stepped away quickly from Lexa. They pulled themselves out of the water at the same time, and much to Lexa’s relief, Clarke seemed too preoccupied with looking at anything but her to notice what her damp loincloth might have revealed. She handed Lexa a clean cloth and they wiped themselves dry, then she followed Clarke out of the bathing room and down the hall.

“This will be your room,” the Ambassador said, opening a door into a small but pleasantly-furnished space. “There are tunics for you on the chair...and fresh underthings, if you want them.” Lexa nodded, attempting to ignore the way Clarke’s eyes burned into her skin.

“Thank you.”

“When you’re done, I’ll expect you to attend me in my chamber,” Clarke said, her voice much firmer now, as though she had suddenly remembered that she was meant to be Lexa’s mistress. _We all have our parts to play, don’t we?_

“Yes, Domina.” Was it just her imagination, or did Clarke flinch at the word, just a bit?

She dressed swiftly, glad of the chance for clean clothing for the first time in a while. She was used to dirt and she wasn’t vain about her appearance—vanity went swiftly out the window on the campaign trail—but it felt good to feel soft, fresh wool against her clean skin again. When she was finished, she padded out into the hall and, figuring that if the Ambassador’s receiving chamber was back the way she had come, the lit room in the other direction must be Clarke’s.

The Skayon had dressed herself and was brushing out her hair as she entered, flowing locks gleaming in the candlelight like new gold. Lexa found herself entranced watching Clarke’s motions, but it was over far too soon. Clarke set the brush down on a table and turned to face her, all business.

“Let’s talk about the future of your rebellion.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I knowwww this is a little bit late, but it's long! Hope that makes up for it. As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

"Let's talk about the future of your rebellion."

Lexa did not answer at first. She merely returned Clarke's glittering stare with a hard one of her own.

The rebellion was over.  _ She _ had almost been over. Only Clarke's desire for leverage over Nia, perhaps mixed with a dash of empathy, had saved her from bleeding out into the dust of the arena...if it could even be called a life anymore, slave that she was. Before her capture, she had saved a few of her people, given them a chance to escape into the mountains. In the end, that was the only small victory she could claim for herself.

But Clarke spoke as if she had plans of her own. Perhaps in the past, it would have kindled the flame of justice within Lexa's chest once more, but that flame had been stifled. She was not interested in Clarke's political games. They reminded her far too much of Nia, and of what Titus had begged her to do before she had been defeated.

"There is no rebellion," she said.

"As long as there is dissatisfaction, there is rebellion," Clarke responded. "And believe me, there is plenty of dissatisfaction."

Lexa's stare hardened even further. She raised her eyebrows, clenched her jaw, lip curling.

"Dissatisfaction? Is that what you call having a tyrant's boot on your windpipe?" At Clarke's startled look, Lexa felt a small twinge of fear. Curious though this woman was, and despite the apparent lust in her gaze, Lexa knew she was putting her own life at risk by being impertinent. Despite everything, she wanted to keep it. She wanted to survive. Perhaps someday, she could escape and join what remained of her people in the mountains, and have the quiet life Costia had always envisioned for them.

For Costia's sake, she would live, even when she preferred to die for a speedier reunion.

"...Domina," she murmured, averting her eyes.

"Lexa."

Clarke's voice came in a soft whisper—not seductive, but almost sad. Surprise alone made Lexa look back up and meet Clarke's eyes once more. What she found there sent a curious, coiling sensation slithering through her stomach like a snake.

"I know your people have suffered more than mine, because of your decisions, but our goals are the same. I have no wish to bow before our Empress. It might not be too late."

Lexa hesitated. She could see something shimmering behind Clarke's eyes, a brilliant mind racing faster than a star across the sky. She was already making plans and calculations, weighing her options. But this girl did not understand the first thing about the true cost of rebellion. She might have studied the tactics and theory of warfare, but Lexa doubted the Skaikru Ambassador had ever seen combat herself. Her hands were soft, her bare skin free of scars. Her body was all plush curves instead of the muscle and definition of a warrior.

She was the soft politician, sending troops to die for her instead of holding a sword herself.

"The thing you must understand about an Empire," Lexa said, "is that it always needs a head. Unless we burn all Thirteen Clans to ashes and start afresh, a new Emperor will rise to take Nia's place. Even if you arrange for me or someone else to kill her, there will be someone else waiting to step into her laurels. Ontari, for example. She wouldn't hesitate."

"You might be surprised about Ontari," Clarke said, in a tone that was surprising enough to Lexa all on its own. "I...know her. She is too focused on winning Nia's approval to have aspirations of her own."

Lexa narrowed her eyes. "And how do you know this?"

"I've fucked her," Clarke said casually, as if discussing the weather, "and spoken with her...when she chooses to speak at all, which isn't often outside of Nia's presence. I almost pity her. The girl has been raised more like a prized pet than a person."

"Then she is no ally of ours," Lexa said firmly. Though she pretended to ignore it, the phrase 'I've fucked her' skittered through her brain like a spider. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant, although the accompanying throb between her legs was the opposite.

"Does that mean you are my ally, then?" Clarke asked curiously.

Lexa redirected. She had plenty of practice to draw upon. "You saved my life."

"That isn't an answer."

"Yes, it is."

"How much loyalty does saving your life earn me?" Clarke said. She leaned closer, and Lexa's heart began to pound. "Please, be specific."

Lexa swallowed, unsure whether the lump she was clearing from her throat was more anger or fear. Probably both. She had known few other emotions these past few months.

"Enough. You own me. I will do what you ask."

"Until it's no longer prudent," Clarke said. "Why does your tone make me wonder if you would have preferred death in the arena?"

Lexa didn't answer. Before dying, Costia had made her promise to keep on living for their people. She didn't know or like Clarke nearly well enough to reveal such personal information.

"Fine, then. Continue to be secretive. We can talk about the future instead."

"I've told you before, there is no future," Lexa insisted. "There is no more rebellion. It should have died with me."

"But you are not dead." Clarke pointed out. "Because of me."

"Because of you," Lexa agreed softly. "So, Ambassador, what is your plan for rebellion?"

"That remains to be seen...Commander."

Lexa bristled at the use of her title falling from the Skayon's lips, but after a moment of consideration, she didn't sense any mockery behind it. She accepted the word with a subtle, surprised nod.

"You may be right about the Empire needing a head to guide the body," Clarke continued, catching the tiny movement with her wide blue eyes. They consumed anything and everything they touched like a deep, shifting ocean swallowing up the shore.

"And you would like to be that head,” Lexa said. It wasn’t a question.

"Possibly. If there aren't more suitable candidates, and we can't implement a more suitable system."

Lexa snorted. "A more suitable system? Candidates? What era do you think this is?"

"We didn't always have Emperors, you know," Clarke said. "They have no divine mandate."

"Don't let the priests hear you say that," Lexa muttered.

Clarke did not take the warning seriously. "Nia doesn't believe in a divine mandate from the Gods either. She rules through her own means and she knows it."

"I'm aware."

"I'm sure you are."

They lapsed back into silence again.

Lexa found herself studying Clarke against her better judgment. In many ways, Clarke was Costia's opposite. Clarke's hair was golden and her skin fair, while Costia's hair had been brown and full and her skin darker still. Her eyes had been dark while Clarke's were bright blue. But something about them, perhaps in their movements, forced Lexa to draw a comparison. She couldn't help it. There was...  _ something _ ... a similarity she couldn't quite pin down.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Lexa started. Clarke had caught her staring. She cursed herself inwardly.

"No reason."

Clarke didn't seem to accept that as the truth. Her smile became smirking and seductive once more. "I don't make a habit of seducing slaves without their consent," she said, "but I'm going to heavily imply that the two of us have a sexual relationship.

Lexa couldn't halt the widening of her eyes. She hadn't expected Clarke to seem so blunt.

"It will allow us to talk alone more freely."

"You can see me alone whenever you wish," Lexa pointed out. "You own me."

"Just because I can do whatever I wish doesn't mean there aren't consequences," Clarke replied. "Nia already thinks I purchased you for lustful purposes. I see no reason to correct her assumptions."

Lexa found herself speaking against her better judgment. "And are those assumptions incorrect?"

Clarke smirked, but Lexa didn’t miss the hint of color that had risen to her cheeks. "That depends on you."

Lexa swallowed hard, again feeling the inconvenient tug of desire, mingled with the fear of what it might mean, the anger at her situation, and the strange stirrings of something that, given enough time, might become respect for the Skayon, if nothing more. She was swiftly growing aware that Clarke was capable of producing a truly dizzying array of emotions within her, with nothing more than a look.

_ Dangerous,  _ her head warned her.  _ Remember Costia?  _ But while loving Costia had been complicated, and dangerous, and ultimately doomed, she had a strong suspicion that Clarke was all three of these, magnified beyond her wildest imagination. 

Yet the thoughts which had come to her in the bath—that sex with Clarke could just be that, sex and nothing more, a pleasure she had long denied her body—failed her as she was standing here, in this bedchamber, the Skayon gazing up at her with barely concealed lust. She had a strong suspicion that all she would need to do was nod and Clarke’s gown would be on the floor. It was a heady thought, but Costia’s ghost still haunted her, and the aches and pains of the day, as well as the confusion of being ripped from the clutches of a death she had thought all but certain, were catching up to her. 

“Do you require anything further of me, Domina?” she asked quietly, carefully keeping her tone neutral. The implications of the question were plain enough in the charged air between them.

Clarke’s deepening blush confirmed that she knew what Lexa truly meant. “No,” the Skayon said, her voice husky with something Lexa couldn’t quite parse. “That will be all for tonight. Tomorrow morning, I will have you escorted to the ludus for training.”

Lexa nodded, then, after a moment of hesitation, bowed. “Goodnight, Ambassador.”

She was almost out the door before she heard Clarke say quietly, “Goodnight, Commander.”

* * *

Another dark room. The stale smell of sweat. The scent would have been familiar even if it weren't for the huddled, chained bodies pressed into the stone walls. Those were only to be expected, so Lexa wasn't sure why it all unsettled her. Perhaps it was because, if she had chosen, she might have passed the morning in Clarke's bed instead, surrounded by soft cushions and softer skin. The Skaikru Ambassador had made the invitation more than clear, never pressing, but letting it hang between them. Lexa couldn't help wondering if allowing Clarke's guards to haul her from the royal tower and through the city of Polis to her next prison without objection had been the right choice. Not that she had many options available to her.

Neither did her fellow slaves. Upon closer inspection, they looked stronger than the usual lot; not half-starved, at least, and they didn't carry the stink of death—merely unwashed bodies. There were men and women alike, all tall and well muscled, several with the scars of warriors who had fought and lived to fight again.

They were not, she sensed, gladiators, though intuition told her some soon would be. The ones she could see had a wide variety of tattoos, different symbols from all twelve clans except Skaikru. Some even bore the white, patterned scars of Azgeda. One thing, however, they all had in common. Their faces still possessed the mean, hungry look of slaves, a look she had seen all too many times during her visits north. She wondered when she would start looking the same...or if she already did.

The guards ushered her into the wide cell, not violently, but none too gently either. Briefly, Lexa wondered if their restraint was upon Clarke's instruction. Then, they departed without a word, closing the doors and leaving her to her fate.

Lexa's eyes widened in the dim, trying to adjust. There were a few torches, but no windows, and their faint glow didn't offer much light to see by. But the other slaves, it seemed, could see her.

"...Heda..."

"...Commander..."

Whispers started up, soft at first, then growing louder, loud enough for Lexa to hear her hated title.

"...Stallion of Tondisi..."

Lexa kept her face impassive, but her muscles tensed. If any slave tried to grab for her, she would make them regret it. Though a pair of heavy manacles bound her wrists, the rest of her remained unchained. She would have a clear advantage.

She was not left alone with the other slaves long. Light poured in from the opposite end of the cell as another heavy door opened. A single guard entered, a set of keys jangling in his hand. He unshackled the others, who—to Lexa's relief—stood to face the daylight streaming in rather than rounding on her. After a barked command, they formed a line,  marching out onto what looked like a field of more dust and sand.

Lexa remained still.

"You too," the guard said, motioning at the end of the line before it could disappear out the door.

There was no point in disobeying. Lexa joined the other slaves, remaining a few paces behind.

The light outside was blinding, even brighter than it had been during her forced march through the city. Lexa squinted against the glare, blinking rapidly. She and the rest of the slaves had stepped out onto a sandy training field. Wooden practice dummies were positioned off to one side with racks of weapons between them, tended to by thin slaves in very little clothing. They only captured Lexa's attention for a moment. Standing directly across the field from her was a second line of people, and these, she could tell in an instant, were not new recruits.

The second group was made up entirely of warriors. That would have been obvious from their bearing and their well-oiled muscles, even if they hadn't borne weapons and various scraps of armor. Those were mostly for show, Lexa suspected, but it served the purpose of differentiating them. The polished leather pauldrons and gauntlets shone in the sun, and metal studs winked at her.

These were gladiators. These were the men and women who, like her, had entered the arena and survived.

Lexa scanned the terrain, searching for any possible exits, but there were none. Aside from the doors she had come through, there was only one other entrance, and it led into a rather grandiose, two-story building that matched the height of the thick stone walls. Gleaming white columns supported the lowest floor, while the upper one contained a balcony...

A balcony on which a very familiar figure stood.

Even from far below, Lexa recognized the woman peering down at her.  _ Ontari.  _ The scars were unmistakable.

She tensed, stopping short of her place in line. What was Nia's pet doing here? Unless...

_ Unless she owns this ludus. But surely Clarke wouldn't have sent me here... At least, not by choice.  _ Lexa wasn't sure how she knew, but she felt certain of that fact. She had always possessed a talent for reading people, and she believed Clarke's efforts to help her were sincere. This development probably hadn't pleased her new domina, either.

Her pondering of Clarke was interrupted by the sound of jeers and taunts. So surprised had she been by Ontari's presence on the balcony that she had stopped paying attention to the line of gladiators who had first greeted them. But they, apparently, had not forgotten her and her compatriots. Lexa caught a few snatches, "...fresh meat...", "...won't last a week...", "Is this really the best Domina could buy...?" but secretly, she was relieved. Their attentions seemed fixed on all the new slaves rather than just her.

The loud crack of a whip had everyone jumping to attention. Slaves and gladiators alike straightened, and Lexa's eyes shot toward the noise. Another woman was striding out onto the training grounds, tall and thin, seeming to stand high above everyone else even from a distance. Her hair, while not as fair as Clarke's, held streaks of glowing gold amidst darker brown roots. Her high cheekbones reminded Lexa of a blade's edge, but her eyes were even sharper. This, Lexa knew at once, was a woman to be reckoned with. It was perfectly clear that she would be giving the orders.

The woman approached, passing through the line of trained gladiators like a shark's fin through a wave. They parted for her respectfully, and Lexa saw several of her fellow slaves step back. Even she thought about it, though she stood her ground. It wasn't often that someone's movements and aura alone were strong enough to unsettle her.

At last, the woman came to a stop in front of the line. The whip remained coiled at her side, looped casually in her left hand. Her right clenched briefly to crack her knuckles before relaxing as she surveyed the new recruits, and Lexa wasn't at all surprised when the woman's sharp eyes settled on her for an extra moment. Obviously, this person knew who she was.

"What is beneath your feet?" the woman said. She wasn't quite yelling, but her voice still carried.

There was no response from the line. The slaves remained silent.

"What is beneath your feet?" the woman asked again. When the line still refused to raise their voices, she continued more insistently. "Answer."

At last, one brave soul spoke up. "Sand?"

The gladiators on the other side of the field chuckled, exchanging cruel smiles.

Without even turning, the woman managed to silence their amusement with a raised hand. "Quint."

One of the gladiators stepped forward, a heavily-muscled bear of a man with tattoos that Lexa recognized. He had once belonged to Trikru, if the designs were any indication. His eyes were dark and intense beneath his heavy brow, with a savagery to match his large size.

"What is beneath your feet?"

Quint answered without hesitation. "Sacred ground, Doctore, watered with the tears of blood."

The woman's eyes sharpened even further as she scanned up and down the line. "Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives forged into something of worth. Listen, learn, and perhaps live...as gladiators. You may be slaves, but glory and honor can still be yours."

The woman called Doctore turned, gesturing up toward the balcony. Ontari remained where Lexa had last seen her, watching the proceedings from her high perch. "This is your mistress. Each of you has been blessed to find yourselves here, in the house of Ontari of Azgeda. Prove yourselves in the days to follow. Prove yourselves more than men and women. Prove yourselves worthy to join the ranks of the finest gladiators all the Empire!"

Without being told, the gladiators behind Doctore picked up a cheer. "Ontari! Ontari! Ontari!"

Doctore unfurled her whip, ending the chant with another loud crack.

"Now, your training begins. The choice between glory and death is yours. Tris!"

One of the thin slaves attending the weapons sprinted onto the field. She was a girl, not even close to full-grown, and Lexa noticed that she too bore the marks of Trikru. She came skidding to a stop at Doctore's side in a small cloud of sand. "Yes, Doctore?"

"Outfit these slaves with practice weapons. Except that one."

Doctore jabbed toward Lexa with the handle of her whip, and Lexa tensed on instinct. She was not surprised when the woman stalked forward to stand right in front of her.

Lexa considered her chances. This woman was obviously a well trained warrior, and armed at that. Even coming out the winner in a scrap for freedom would not end well, surrounded by enemies as she was. Silently, Lexa made up her mind to endure whatever abuse this woman decided to rain upon her. She had promised Costia—and now, Clarke—that she would survive.

"The former Commander Lexa. Stallion of Tondisi."

As usual, Lexa gritted her teeth at the name, but bit back a response.

"You will get no special treatment here, little colt. This ludus answers to Ontari, Empress Nia, and the might of Azgeda. Your Skaikru sponsor will not save you. If you choose to be insubordinate, I will not hesitate to slit your throat. Your accidental victory in the arena will have been for nothing."

Lexa stayed quiet. She simply held Doctore's eyes, not challenging, but not submitting either. At last, she gave a small nod.

"Then it seems we have an understanding."

The woman withdrew a key, and to Lexa's surprise, she watched her manacles fall onto the dust at her feet. Lexa rolled her wrists, testing her new freedom. It came as a relief. Her arms had been bound for far too long.

"Tris," Doctore called, and the mouse of a girl came scurrying over once more.

"Doctore?"

"Hand Lexa a practice sword. Training begins now."

* * *

Sucking in a deep breath, Clarke made her way through the huge wooden doors of the ludus. Blinking to let her eyes adjust to the sudden dimness of the atrium, she reflected that even though she couldn’t see any gladiators, it was just as she’d imagined: the air rang with the sounds of clashing steel, the cries of the warriors...and somewhere among them, she thought, was  _ her  _ warrior. 

She had meant to bring Lexa to the compound herself that morning, but Echo’s reaction when she had announced her intention had been so shocked that she realized it would have looked amiss. Instead, she had ordered two of her guards to take Lexa instead, and make sure that she wasn’t harassed in the street. Then she had retired to her rooms to take breakfast alone, and to sulk until she could make up a believable reason for going out. 

Ultimately, it had been easy, because it was true: she wanted to inspect the ludus where her new slave would be training. It was accounted the finest one in the city, but that wasn’t why Lexa was there: this ludus was owned by Ontari. Clarke would have picked literally any other option, but when Nia had given her the key to the Commander’s collar, she had casually suggested that Clarke wouldn’t want her new investment’s skills going to seed if she was to continue fighting in the ring. That would mean enrolling Lexa in a ludus, and why not try Ontari’s? Like many of Nia’s “suggestions,” this one was clearly not optional. 

The guard captain for the ludus met her as she fumbled her way toward what she thought was the training yard, and ushered her to the viewing platform. It was raised high enough off the ground that she was able to get a good look over the entire operation, but her eyes didn’t settle on anything for long; she was too busy looking for Lexa. 

The captain soon took pity on her squinting and pointed her out: “She’s over there by the south wall, doing swordwork with Anya, the Doctore.”

Clarke followed his finger to see a row of gladiators hacking away at practice dummies with wooden swords. A tall, tattooed blonde woman was pacing behind them, barking orders and critiques. 

Lexa was at the end of the row. As soon as Clarke set eyes on her, her mouth went dry, but between her legs she was anything but. The day was hot and Lexa had removed her shirt, giving Clarke a perfect view of the muscles in her back shifting and flexing as she moved through a sequence of strikes. Her skin gleamed with sweat, and Clarke found herself busily concocting a scheme for how she could sneak onto the training ground and lick each bead of salt off Lexa’s biceps without being caught.

“So  _ this  _ is where you’ve been hiding.” 

Clarke jumped guiltily at the sound of Octavia’s voice. She had been so absorbed in watching Lexa train that she hadn’t even noticed her friend’s arrival. It was certainly a surprise. Like her, Octavia was a ‘guest’ of Empress Nia’s, with free rein of the city, but Clarke hadn’t told her where she would be—which meant Octavia had been following her, or her destination had been obvious.

Without waiting for an invitation, Octavia joined her in the viewing platform’s shade, tugging her captive along with her: a scowling, foot-dragging Raven. “I had to get her out of that cellar,” Octavia explained when Clarke raised an eyebrow. “She was beginning to grow roots like the other vegetables.” 

Raven crossed her arms and huffed. “That  _ cellar  _ is my workshop, thank you very much, and I’m doing important work there.”

“Save it for somebody who’ll believe it,” Octavia drawled. “You don’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t go boom, and there’s no way they’ll let you play with anything like that here.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at her friends’ bickering, turning back to observe the gladiators. She couldn’t help the guilty pang she felt at the source of their strife, because the truth was that she was the reason they were here in the capitol, under Nia’s watchful, all-seeing gaze. When Clarke had been preparing to go to Polis as Ambassador for her people, the Empress had suggested that she bring some friends with her, so that her life wouldn’t be too lonely. If she hadn’t already known just what Nia’s “suggestions” really were, the list of proposed names that the ruler’s messenger provided would have told her. 

Octavia and her brother Bellamy were the adoptive children of Marcus, commanding general of Arkadia’s army—and, as Clarke had discovered to her horror, her mother’s lover. Raven was First Apprentice to Sinclair, the Chief Engineer to Arkadia, a sure bet to succeed him in that prestigious position when he retired. Finn, whom Clarke noticed was conspicuously not present—probably off cavorting with one of the many whores Nia kept in generous supply, she thought—was the son of a prominent Arkadian merchant. Clarke suspected that the fact that they were actually her friends didn’t matter much to Nia; the Empress was more interested in the leverage that their presence in her city and at her mercy provided over those in charge of Arkadia. That was the truth of their presence here, a truth she could see in the strain on Octavia’s and Raven’s faces, even as they kept up the appearance of a spirited argument: they were hostages here, to ensure the cooperation of Skaikru’s movers and shakers. And so was Clarke.

“I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise to find you here,” Octavia said suddenly in her ear, making Clarke jump again. She turned to glare at her friend, but the younger girl only smiled back at her smugly. “Drooling over the Stallion of Tondisi?” Octavia continued, her smirk only widening as Clarke’s scowl deepened.

Heat seared across Clarke’s cheeks, and she turned away to hide what was surely a furious blush. “It’s not like that,” she muttered, declining to add  _ If only.  _

Octavia leaned against the balcony railing to get a better view of Clarke’s face. “No?” 

The sudden seriousness of her tone made Clarke turn to look at her, and she saw that Octavia’s grin had fallen away, replaced by something dark and flinty. Clarke was overtaken by a strong sense that somehow, she was being tested. 

While Azgeda and several of the other clans kept slaves, Skaikru did not. In part it was because most of their society’s needs were taken care of by the fertile land and well-stocked hunting grounds on which they had settled, as well as the technology that they had developed, but they also considered the practice reprehensible. Clarke remembered Octavia recoiling in horror at the first glimpse they’d gotten of a line of manacled slaves filling a ditch on their way into the city, and had nearly bitten her lip through with the effort of not bursting into tears when one of them was lashed brutally by an overseer. 

Octavia had had the hardest time adjusting to life in the capital, and she was outspoken enough that Clarke worried about her ceaselessly. All it would take was one careless outburst in front of the wrong person, and Octavia could find herself facing Nia’s “justice” for some fabricated crime against the Empress. She had listened to Clarke’s impassioned plea for her to at least make a show of adapting to Polis—to come with her to some of the bacchanals and circuses, and to keep her mouth shut when they were being watched—but Octavia had made it clear that she wasn’t happy about it. “We’re  _ always  _ being watched, Clarke,” she’d spat, shaking off Clarke’s attempts at comfort. “There’s nowhere we can go to truly be ourselves. Nowhere we can speak our minds. Nowhere we can be free.” 

With the weight of that in mind, Clarke firmly said “No,” willing Octavia to believe her. After a moment of considering her, Octavia nodded, then turned to call Raven, who had wandered off to look at some of the practice machinery. 

“Hey gearhead, you’re missing all the action!” 

Raven limped back over to them, the grin on her face nearly identical to the one Octavia’s had worn moments ago. “Let me guess. Clarke’s eyes have fallen out of her head?”

“And wandered off somewhere across the training field,” Octavia drawled.

Clarke groaned as Raven snickered. Apparently, Octavia found her lustful gaze amusing once more after being assured that she hadn’t forced a performance from her new purchase.

Logically, Clarke knew Octavia was right. It would have been wrong to force herself upon an unwilling slave, no matter what Azgedan tradition dictated. But still… she sighed wistfully. There was no harm in looking, was there?

She found her attention drawn back to the practicing warriors. As she traced the tattoo that ran the length of the Commander’s spine with her eyes, admiring the way her muscles moved beneath the ink-darkened skin, she felt a stab of guilt.  _ I’m doing this to save her life,  _ she thought, in an effort to stave it off.  _ To save her life, and maybe to win back our freedom. _

"Ambassador," a flat voice said, causing Clarke to turn away from the object of her attention.

Not much could have ripped her gaze away from Lexa's rippling muscles as she swung her sword at the practice dummy, but she knew who was speaking before she set eyes on the new arrival. Apparently, Ontari had decided to come and welcome them to the ludus herself. Her hair was red that day, a drastic change in color typical among Azgedans in Polis. Unique hair colors harvested from slaves in other regions were the height of fashion. The only reason Clarke didn't wear wigs herself was because her blonde hair was already considered a rarity.

Clarke resisted the temptation to clench her teeth as she forced a smile. "Ontari." She leaned in to exchange pecks of welcome across both cheeks. "It's been my delight to visit your ludus and see its might for myself. Empress Nia recommended it most strongly."

Ontari's lips twitched the slightest bit at the mention of the Empress's name. "Her words and yours flatter me. I'm sure your newest investment will flourish during her time here."

Something about the way Ontari said the word 'time' implied that it would be brief.

"I hope to get a few good matches out of her, at least," Clarke said in an enthusiastic voice. "She has such potential."

"Yes," Ontari said. "She is certainly entertaining to watch." Her gaze drifted beyond Clarke—beyond Octavia and Raven, whom she had not deigned to address—until it landed on Lexa.

Clarke stiffened despite herself, a feeling far too reminiscent of jealousy coursing through her. It seemed to her as if Ontari was running her very hands over Lexa's gleaming form.  _ But that's foolish. She's only mine to be jealous of in Nia's eyes. Then again... I am supposed to make everyone believe she and I are lovers. _

"You have no idea," she murmured.

Ontari laughed lightly. "I suppose we all must have our dalliances before settling down. I take it she serves you well?"

Behind her, Clarke could practically hear Octavia growling. She seemed about to speak until Raven, attempting to avert disaster, stomped none too subtly on the edge of her sandaled foot.

Clarke pretended to ignore it. She faked a seductive smile. "The rumors do her no justice."

Ontari smiled back. "I will be sure to tell Nia that you appreciated her generosity. She does reward her most loyal allies."

"Consider me well-rewarded, then," Clarke said. "Please, as a favor to me, make sure my new slave is well-fed. I hardly wish her stamina to suffer."

"Consider it done," Ontari replied. "And you are welcome to visit  _ any _ time you wish, Ambassador. We are housing your property, after all."

Clarke's spirits lifted even as her stomach sank. She was sure she would be seeing plenty of Lexa in the days to come—although, unfortunately, that meant she would be forced to keep frequent company with Ontari as well. The former was worth the latter, and that was saying something.

"You are generous beyond measure," she said to Ontari.

Ontari preened just enough under the flattery to be appropriate to the situation. "Please, excuse me. I have a few household matters to see to. Feel free to enjoy the view for as long as you like."

With another airy embrace and airier kisses, Ontari took her leave without having said a word to Octavia or Raven the entire time.

"Well, that was repulsive," Raven said.

Clarke nearly laughed in relief. She could always count on Raven to be as blunt and truthful as possible.

"How petty does it make me to imagine snatching her wig off her head and strangling her with it," Octavia muttered.

"Petty, no," Clarke said. "Disturbing, possibly."

“No more disturbing than anything else in this festering garbage heap,” Octavia said.

“Just keep those thoughts to yourself, Blake,” Raven said. “Otherwise you might not have a head left to talk with.”

Clarke turned away from her friends and back toward the training field.  _ Just a few minutes, _ she told herself.  _ A few minutes of watching her and pretending politics don’t matter… _

But it was futile. She had never been much good at pretending. And the view, entrancing as it looked, was tarnished by the sight of the scars streaking Lexa’s back. Some, Clarke knew, were fresh. And despite her efforts to protect Lexa, she was afraid that the disgraced Commander would receive many more in the weeks to come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kru, N1ghtwr1ter here. Sorry it's been a day and an age - that'd be my fault. I had some stuff to work through. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. Serving up the usual heaping portion of angst, thirst, and UST. As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr.

Fresh sweat sprouted along Lexa's skin, clinging to her brow and running in rivulets down the furrow of her back as she swung her sword. The sun had peeked out from behind the clouds to blaze over the training field, but that wasn't the reason her flesh burned. It was Klark of Skaikru's gaze. 

A few minutes ago, the prickle of eyes on the back of her neck had caused her to look up from the training dummy she’d been hacking to pieces, and she had caught sight of a familiar figure standing on the observation platform. For a fleeting moment, her eyes had met Clarke’s. The blue irises that matched the sky overhead had gone wide with recognition, and then her domina had hastily turned away, ostensibly to say something to one of her companions.

Lexa had remained watching for a moment, trying to parse exactly what had passed between them, but then Doctore’s voice had cracked over her ears like a whip. 

“You’re here to train, not to stare, little colt,” the woman had said, the mildness of her words belied by the steeliness of her tone. Lexa flinched. She wasn’t sure how Doctore had managed to get behind her all of a sudden, without her noticing.

_ I must be slipping,  _ she thought, seething to herself as she returned her attention to the practice dummy.  _ My time in captivity has made me weak.  _

She could feel the weight of a different gaze as she continued her sequence of strikes, her muscles moving with somewhat less than their usual fluidity through the well-remembered motions. It seemed that despite Doctore’s insistence that Lexa would be treated no different from the others, the woman had singled her out for more intense observation. While Lexa was ordinarily entirely at home with silence, there was something that had been nagging at her since Doctore had first swaggered onto the training ground. 

“You are Trikru, are you not?” she said at last, her words exhaled on a harsh breath as she swung her sword. She wasn’t aware of any rule against speaking as they practiced, and even if there was, she couldn’t imagine that Doctore could do anything to her that she couldn’t handle. She wasn’t afraid of pain, and ultimately her life was not in this woman’s hands, or in those of her mistress, Ontari. At least nominally, her life belonged to Clarke. 

There was silence behind her for a long moment. Lexa had accepted that she was not going to receive an answer, when she heard Doctore speak. “What makes you say that?”

Lexa answered on the breaths between swings of her sword. “Your tattoos. The braids in your hair. And the fact that these are Trikru training exercises you have us doing.” 

She dared a glance behind her, to gauge the impact of her words. Doctore’s face remained impassive, but there was a muted edge of pain her voice when she replied, “Once upon a time, you would have been right. But Trikru, Skaikru—what does it matter? We’re all Azgeda now.” Before Lexa had time to answer, Doctore had begun sweeping back down the line, shouting at the other trainees to pick it up, or face the lash. She gritted her teeth against the bitter flood of guilt. 

_ This was my fault, my doing. If I hadn’t fallen… If I hadn’t failed my people… _

_ Enough,  _ she told herself sharply.  _ It does no good to dwell on the past, and that’s not why you’re here.  _ What was done was done. The dead were gone, and the living were hungry. 

“Gladiators!” 

Doctore’s voice rang out over the training ground, making her look up. The seasoned warriors immediately snapped to attention, while the new trainees looked uncertain. Lexa continued attacking her wooden opponent, reasoning that their overseer wasn’t speaking to her. That turned out to be correct. 

“What are you doing?” Doctore snapped, punctuating her words with a crack of her whip. “I am addressing the gladiators here, not you worms. Get back to your training!” Lexa watched out of the corner of her eye as the other slaves hastened to obey. 

It was a surprise, then, when she felt a hand land heavily on her shoulder. She looked up, tensing, half-prepared for a blow, to meet the eyes of one of the gladiators, a tall dark-skinned man with Trikru tattoos and an unexpectedly gentle gaze. “Not you,” he said quietly, gesturing towards where the other fighters were gathering around the training ring. “Doctore says you are to come with us.” 

Lexa nodded, abandoning the practice dummy and following the man over to the ring. Trepidation coiled in her stomach. What could Doctore be planning? 

As soon as they arrived, the tall woman’s gaze snapped to her, pinning her like a javelin. “Get in the ring. Let’s see what the great Commander can do.” There was mockery in Doctore’s words, and the other gladiators snickered as they parted to allow Lexa to make her way to the ring, but there was only keen appraisal in her eyes. 

Lexa vaulted the crude wooden fence with one hand, the other clutching her sword. Her feet skidded in the loose sand of the ring, less stable than the packed earth of the rest of the training ground, but she regained her balance swiftly and stood, silently awaiting Doctore’s commands.

"Lincoln."

Doctore's voice lashed out once again, and all eyes shifted toward the gladiator who had ushered her over to the training ring. He stood near the end, tall and broad-shouldered, with muscles carved of marble and Trikru tattoos imprinted on his dark skin. To Lexa’s shock and fury, however, several of them were sliced through by gleaming scar tissue - some of it apparently quite recent

Lexa studied him carefully. This man looked young and strong, and well trained too—especially if he had been Trikru once. She would need to be on her guard.

_ "Gyon op." _

Doctore pointed at the ring, but to Lexa’s surprise, Lincoln shook his head. The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “You  _ will  _ fight, Lincoln."

The tall gladiator shook his head again. “I won’t.” 

Doctore pursed her lips into a thin line, biting off a curse. “You know the punishment if you refuse.” Her stomach lurching, Lexa abruptly realized why Lincoln’s body was scarred so heavily. 

Lincoln nodded. “I do.” The other gladiators murmured in voices too low for Lexa to make out, but Lexa could see them shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye. 

Doctore tried one more time, her eyes softening, her voice taking on an almost beseeching tone. “Don’t make me do this, Lincoln.” But the gladiator shook his head one final time. Pain flickered across Doctore’s face as she turned to the edge of the arena and shouted, “Guards!” 

The soldiers of the ludus, evidently used to this particular display, were upon them swiftly. Without further orders, they grabbed Lincoln by both arms and led him out of the training ground. Lexa gritted her teeth. This was precisely what her rebellion had been fighting against. She didn’t know why this man refused to fight, but he was clearly someone of principle. For him to be punished for abiding by those principles was cruelty of the worst kind, and her hatred for Nia flared like a bright flame in her mind. 

Before she could potentially do something stupid, like act on it, Doctore’s voice snapped her to attention once more. “Very well. Since Lincoln has refused, I will be your opponent.” Without waiting for an answer, she placed a hand on the rough wooden fence and vaulted into the pit. Lexa gripped her sword tighter in her sweaty hand, watching as the tall warrior called for a practice sword to be brought to her. As much as she felt that Lincoln would have been a worthy opponent, Doctore concerned her more. The woman’s movements were fluid and sinuous, more like those of a panther than those of a human. She had known warriors who moved like that growing up, and they were always the best fighters: quick, agile, and lethal. 

The small girl, Tris, brought Doctore a practice sword, and she took it, holding it in a deceptively easy grip. Lexa felt herself tense up with nervous agitation as Doctore began to circle, and her own feet followed the other woman’s instinctively. She wasn’t even bothering to hold her weapon in guard, preferring instead to observe Lexa with a bright gaze. Her apparent nonchalance made fury coil in Lexa’s chest, but she released it with a couple of deep, slow breaths. This was likely what Doctore wanted—to make her so annoyed that her limbs locked up and her footwork grew sloppy.

_ You’re better than this,  _ she told herself, at once furious and concerned at herself.  _ Don’t let her get to you. _

Once Lexa’s movements had evened out, becoming nearly as fluid as Doctore’s own, the older woman nodded approvingly. “It appears that you are not entirely an untrained pup,” she said, eliciting a few snorts from the other gladiators. “Let’s see what you can do.” 

Quick as a striking snake, Doctore’s sword lashed out at Lexa, a brutal blow that, if they had been using real blades, would have slit her face in half. Lexa brought up her own sword to block it just in time, the force of the attack sending shockwaves down her arm. She knew that she wasn’t quite in peak condition—her time in chains, coupled with how little food she’d been given in captivity, had seen to that—but even so, Doctore was strong, and incredibly fast. Lexa knew that she’d need to be stronger and faster in order to prevail, but with a sinking feeling, she realized that she wasn’t quite sure she could.

Just as swiftly as she’d struck, the other woman spun away, leaving Lexa’s counterattack reaching for her uselessly. Doctore punished her overextension with a stinging blow across her ribs, making Lexa hiss in pain. She was quick to turn and bring her guard back up, but the laughter in Doctore’s eyes made her burn with embarrassment. 

“Sloppy. I wouldn’t have thought the former Commander would be so careless.”

_ It’s just like training,  _ Lexa told herself, circling the older warrior warily.  _ Your instructors taunted you similarly. They wanted to get a rise out of you, to make you so angry that you made a mistake—and she’s doing just the same. Don’t let her.  _ When Doctore’s sword flicked out at her again, Lexa was quick to block it, but spun away to avoid the trainer’s follow-up attack. This time, Doctore’s look was approving. 

“So, I see you have more sense than to just strike out needlessly, and to block each one of my blows. That’s good. You will need to conserve your strength in the ring.” 

Lexa remembered her fights in the amphitheatre, how the sun had beat down ceaselessly on her back and shoulders, how sweat had poured off her to mingle with blood on the sand, and yet the warriors had just kept coming. It was good advice, and yet Doctore did not seem keen on following it. She continued to strike at Lexa, alternating powerful blows with quick, probing strikes. Lexa quickly gleaned the older woman’s body language, learning to anticipate which was which, using that knowledge as best she could to block the latter and avoid the former. Even so, she soon found herself panting, dripping with sweat and desperate for a respite, while Doctore seemed nearly as fresh as she was when they’d begun. 

_ I need to find some way to end this, or I’ll wind up even more humiliated than I already am... and more bruised besides.  _

The opportunity presented itself moments later, as a flaw in Doctore’s footwork. The warrior’s latest attack left her extended in such a position that she would not be able to pivot away as swiftly. If Lexa were to simply just dart in and take advantage of that, she would be able to get her sword up under Doctore’s guard. 

Swallowing her excitement, Lexa attempted to do just that—and found herself flat on her back in the sand, ribs throbbing from a firm  _ thwack  _ and ears ringing from a blow to the back of her head.

A moment later, Doctore’s face entered her field of vision, a smirk stretching across her lips. “Here’s your next lesson for the ring: when it’s that obvious, it’s probably too good to be true.” 

Lexa growled in helpless fury, but something about Doctore’s mocking air didn’t anger her as much as it should have. There was something approaching approbation in the older warrior’s eyes as she stretched out a hand for Lexa to take, and pulled her to her feet. 

“You’re terrible, but not hopeless,” Doctore said casually as she staggered, attempting to regain her balance. “I might just be able to keep you from getting killed within the first minute, next time you step into the amphitheatre. Now, let’s see how you handle someone else. Penn! Let’s see what you can do against our esteemed Commander.”

Doctore strolled out of the ring, leaving way for a tall young man to take her place before Lexa, grinning fiercely. She adjusted her grip on her sword, gritting her teeth. Doctore might have a heart and a sense of humor, but she most definitely did not have a concept of mercy. 

***

"Come on, Griffin," Raven said, tugging gently at Clarke's arm. "Pick up the pace. Your feet are welding to the floor."

Though she felt the playful pull, Clarke didn't pay much attention to Raven's words. Her mind was still back in the courtyard, recalling the way Lexa's body and blade had gleamed beneath the blazing afternoon sun. They were dangerous thoughts, she knew, but too vivid to shake.

"It's no use, Raven," Octavia muttered. "We won't get any sense out of her until we're far away from her new... purchase." Her lips wrapped reluctantly around the word, as if it tasted foul.

Clarke didn't take it personally. In Lexa's case, the options had been slavery or death, though part of Clarke suspected that Lexa might have actually preferred death. It was something about her eyes and the weight within them...

"Stop pestering her," Raven said, coming to her defense. "What would you have done, in Clarke's situation? You know she has to stay on Nia's good side if she doesn't want to lose her head—and for all of us to lose ours. It's a minor miracle she managed to stay the Stallion of Tondisi's execution."

"I don't think she appreciates that title," Clarke said, mostly to herself. She separated herself once more from the bickering, remembering her bath with Lexa just the night before. She had been lean, but shapely, and cut of strong stuff despite signs of bruising and malnutrition. Certainly she seemed like a woman, no matter what some of the rumors said.

"Her eyes are glazing over," Raven snorted. "We've lost her again."

Octavia didn't chuckle along. "Well, get her back. We've got company."

The sound of footsteps brought Clarke back to the present, and she looked up to see another group approaching them. Two hulking guards were escorting a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man through the open hallway. The guards were nothing special, but Clarke's eyes snapped onto their charge immediately. His chest was bare, and covered in what she was fairly certain were Trikru tattoos. His head was clean shaven, and his brown eyes blazed with a determination that almost reminded her of...

"What's going on here?" Octavia asked, stepping forward.

Clarke sighed. Whatever happened next, it wasn't going to be good.

"Who are you?" one of the guards asked, peering derisively down his nose at Octavia.

"A guest of your mistress's house, so I'd thank you to speak with a more respectful tone," Clarke said, stepping forward. Rash or not, Octavia was her friend.

The guards seemed to do a double take. "Ambassador," the second man murmured apologetically, shooting his companion a glare. "Our apologies. We are simply dealing with a disobedient slave. Nothing for you to concern yourself with, my lady."

"A slave?" Raven asked. "Judging from the clothes—or lack thereof—isn't he a gladiator?"

Clarke tried not to shake her head in dismay. This could only make things worse.

"Gladiators  _ are _ slaves, Raven," Octavia said darkly. "Why else would someone want to fight in the arena? They don't have a choice."

"Some fight by choice, for the glory of it all," said the first guard. "That, or the money. Not this one, though. He refuses. That's why he has to be punished."

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "You're punishing him for refusing to fight?"

"Yes, Ambassador," said the second guard. "This is the fifth time this month. I doubt our domina will have much use for him if he won't fight for the glory of her House."

"And what about you?" Clarke asked, looking at the man between the guards. "Will you speak at all in your own defense?"

The man did not speak, but he did meet her eyes, and within them, Clarke saw pain—pain that was hauntingly familiar.

"Listen," Octavia said, squaring her shoulders and standing toe to toe with the first guard. "I won't let you beat this man just for refusing to fight."

"Won't you?"

The sound of a new voice had all six of those present shivering. Clarke recognized the monotone cadence at once, and her lips set into a false smile. "Ontari," she said, turning around to greet the new arrival. Their host, it seemed, had returned from whatever business had required her urgent attention—much to Clarke's dismay.

_ This has to be the worst possible timing. _

"This is all a misunderstanding, I assume," Ontari said, sparing only a passing glance for Clarke before fixing her gaze on Octavia. "Surely the low-ranking companion of a foreign Ambassador wouldn't be so bold as to dictate what I should and shouldn't do in my own place of business."

Clarke felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. This was a situation in which she’d need to tread very carefully, or she might find herself in serious danger. If word got back to Nia that she and her companions had bucked Ontari’s authority, the Empress might decide that Octavia was simply too much trouble to deal with and choose to get rid of her. Unfortunately, she reflected as she watched her friend square her jaw, ignoring Raven frantically stomping on her foot, Octavia was not much for subtlety. She was more of a bull in a pottery shop.

And then, to make matters worse, she had a new worry: Lexa. Lexa was staying in Ontari’s ludus, at the noblewoman’s pleasure. While Octavia was ostensibly a free citizen of the Empire, and could defend herself or flee if attacked, Lexa had no such recourse. Clarke’s gaze flickered again to take in the tall gladiator, who was watching the scene with what seemed like surprise, but little concern for his fate. And why should he? He had no control over it. Clarke’s stomach churned as she imagined Lexa in his position, being led in chains to receive lashes that she couldn’t even flinch away from, or risk being given more…

“Actually, we were curious as to why this man is being punished,” she found herself saying. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blinked—surely those weren’t the right ones? She was dead certain she’d been planning to say  _ No, not at all, we were just going— _ so what was she doing? 

Surprise flickered in Ontari’s eyes before they narrowed again in anger. “He is being punished because he refuses to train, and to fight,” she said in clipped tones. “He’s a gladiator, and a good one—or at least he was, until this habit of defiance started. If he won’t fight, he is no use to me, so I’ve given my guards orders to whip the stubbornness out of him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Octavia make a violent movement, probably reaching for Ontari’s throat, but then Raven drove an elbow into her stomach so powerfully that she could only double over and wheeze. Clarke ignored the little tableau and smiled, putting as much graciousness as she could muster into her tone, even though she seethed with contempt for Ontari’s cruelty. 

“I can certainly understand your position, as you’ve surely made quite an investment in his training and outfitting,” she said. Ontari nodded, still looking suspicious, so Clarke put even more honey into her voice, even fluttering her eyelashes a bit. “However, I must admit to some further curiosity, given that I’m new to owning slaves myself, and thus I don’t have nearly as much experience as you in dealing with them. Perhaps you could enlighten me?” 

She saw Ontari’s eyebrows rise at her show of deference, and for a moment she was afraid she’d overdone it, but stroking the woman’s ego had always been a sure bet to getting what she wanted, and this time was no different. Ontari’s face relaxed into a smug smile, and she waved her hand carelessly. “I don’t see why not.” 

Clarke let her grin brighten. “Thank you. Your guard did mention that this gladiator—what’s his name?” 

Ontari glanced up at him. “Lincoln,” she said, with barely concealed disdain.

“Your guard mentioned that Lincoln has refused to train for the fifth time this month, despite repeated beatings. That suggests to me that his stubbornness might be something permanent,” Clarke said, her words coming a bit quicker. She knew the workings of Ontari’s mind were cruel but simple, and this was the pivotal moment: if she didn’t tread carefully, she might inadvertently wind up killing Lincoln instead of saving him. “It’s a great pity that a gladiator at the peak of physical fitness refuses to compete, but you have many others. Would it not be a shame to allow his strength to waste away under repeated lashings, when it could be turned to some other purpose? As a porter, perhaps, or a courier. He would most likely live longer than if he died uselessly in the ring or perished of his wounds, and that might allow you to recoup your investment.” She gave Ontari her most dazzling, innocent smile, and crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt. 

The noblewoman pondered for a moment, working through the implications of what Clarke had suggested. Clarke could see the cogs turning in Ontari’s mind, and prayed that her greed would win out over her malicious streak. After a long moment in which Clarke scarcely dared to breathe, the noblewoman gave her a sallow smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said, before turning to the guard. “Take him to the slave quarters and have them give him a tunic. He can help haul the supplies for the kitchens until he begins to miss the privileges being a gladiator for my House offers him.”

The guard nodded, looking somewhat shell-shocked, and began dragging Lincoln away. Before he could go too far, however, the former gladiator turned, fixing Clarke with his soft brown gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly but clearly. Clarke didn’t dare do anything but nod, hoping that Ontari wouldn’t see Lincoln’s gratitude and decide to kill him out of spite. 

But then the guard cuffed him over the head, swearing at him for speaking out of turn, and hauled him around the corner and out of sight. Clarke noticed Octavia staring after him, and hoped Ontari hadn’t. When she looked back at the noblewoman, however, her thin smile had turned into something far more smug—and that was chilling. 

“Well, who would have thought?” she said, tapping her cheek with her finger. “I will have to tell our esteemed Empress that she was wrong. You appear to be adjusting to life in Azgeda quite well.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clarke said, feeling heat rise to her cheeks, before she remembered herself. She gave Ontari an uncertain smile. “I appreciate the compliment, but I must admit I don’t quite understand.” 

“Oh, just that while your people don’t seem to understand the merits of owning slaves, you seem to have taken to it rather excellently,” Ontari said, smirking. “Anyway, please allow me to see you out. The day is waning, and I’m sure you have some party or feast to prepare for.” Clarke wanted to bristle at the implication that she was nothing more than a feckless party girl, but she knew that was the role she was playing. 

_ For the moment. But when Lexa and I are ready to strike, you’ll see who I really was all along.  _

* * *

Lexa stretched out the narrow cot in her cell with closed eyes—if it could truly be called a cell. It was nothing like the prisons she had been kept in since her capture. The windows were high, but not barred, allowing faint streams of light to lance down to the floor, and the doors remained open, leading to a shared common area. The doors to that large room, she knew, were locked. She had watched the guards close them, and the sound of the tumblers turning had reminded her that she was, in fact, still a slave.

She did not know what to make of her new environment. She was surrounded by enemies on all sides, but at the same time, she did not fear for her life the way she had mere days before. She doubted the gladiators of the ludus and her fellow new recruits would dare to touch her, not only because she would break their hands if they tried, but because the punishment would be swift and fierce. Doctore had made that clear enough before ordering them back to the compound.

"There will be no fighting in the slave quarters, or it will be taken out of your flesh," she had said.

The others had taken her warning seriously, which was why Lexa found herself alone. She could hear the murmur of voices outside, raucous laughter that meant the other new recruits had probably decided to indulge in the alcohol that had been left for them.

Lexa blocked the noise out, trying to focus on her body. It was battered and bruised, her limbs ached, and her skin was scraped in several places, but she had no serious injuries. Doctore was a harsh taskmaster, and while Lexa held no loyalty for her, the retired gladiator had earned her grudging respect. She would not underestimate the woman's knowledge of fighting, or of this strange new place. She would watch and learn until she came to understand better what Clarke wanted from her.

_ Clarke. _

Though her domina had stood upon the distant balcony overlooking the training field, Lexa could picture her face clearly. Sometime during the past three days, she had memorized the details. She remembered the way Clarke's golden hair fell, the dark mole above her lip, the slant of her cheekbones and the rounded point of her chin.

It was strange. Clarke looked nothing like Costia, but she reminded Lexa of her long-dead lover nevertheless. Perhaps it was something in the eyes.

The sound of footsteps approaching her cell caused Lexa to open her eyes. She sat up as two armed guards entered—large, powerfully-built men who looked slower than the trained gladiators, but who held weapons big enough to compensate.

"You are to come with us," one of them said.

Lexa saw no reason to disobey, and it was clear she had little choice. She stood up, holding out her hands.

To her surprise, the guards did not bind her. They simply fell into step on either side of her, hovering close enough to use their muscle as intimidation. Together, the three of them headed out of the cell and toward the locked door.

On the way, Lexa noticed several sets of eyes falling upon them. The other new recruits began muttering, and the gladiators, who were clustered in a group at the cleaner end of the room with the sturdier tables and the better drink, laughed out loud.

"Looks like the Skaikru Ambassador wants to take her pony for a ride."

"Hope she washes her down first. I wouldn't want to touch that."

Lexa gritted her teeth, but held her head high. A Commander could not afford to let herself look weak in the face of taunts.

The voices became faint once they reached the other side of the door, and Lexa breathed a soft sigh of relief. As the guards led her away, however, she began to realize that the gladiators had been right. They were taking her away from the gladiator compound and across the square field of sand toward the main building, where—hopefully—Clarke was waiting for her. She did not want to consider who else might have summoned her, but she doubted Ontari would be that foolish.

_ But perhaps she would be that cruel. Perhaps Nia's pet would love the opportunity to gloat over me. _

There was no use in speculating. She walked with the guards in silence, following them into the main room and up a grand set of stairs toward the second floor. As they ascended the steps, Lexa began to hear the sounds of merriment floating down from the upper floor, not the raucous noise she assumed would accompany one of the bacchanals that the elite of Polis were famous for, but it was clear there was some sort of gathering up ahead. 

The stairs took them to a large, open room, where a crowd of people milled about or lay on couches, drinking and eating and smugly enjoying one another’s company. Lexa could see several slaves circulating the party with trays and pitchers, constantly on the move to prevent the unthinkable: that someone might run out of sustenance for more than a minute. 

Her hands curled into fists at her sides as she thought of her army out in the wilderness, catching their dinner on the run or starving if they failed to do so. The blatant decadence with which these people, some of whom were so overstuffed they were spilling out of their togas, enjoyed this bounty made her blood boil when she thought of the poverty that many of her people had suffered. Much of the food and wine these people were consuming likely came from other clans, demanded as tithes for Azgeda’s graciousness in not wiping them out. 

Her vision was blurring red with fury, and she knew that she needed to distract herself before she wound up doing something she’d regret.  _ Enough,  _ Lexa told herself.  _ Focus on something else—anything else.  _ She attempted to turn her thoughts to Costia, as she often did in difficult situations, imagining her lost love’s graceful limbs or soft skin, but it wasn’t working. In desperation, she cast around for some other bright spark in the darkness of her life—and saw Clarke. Golden hair gently cascading down her shoulders, plush curves and full breasts, her blue eyes darkening as she looked up at Lexa with obvious desire…

The recollection lifted her mood, but also brought an unintended effect. She could feel herself stir beneath her tunic and tightened her jaw. There was no way she was going to let herself get hard in front of all these people— _ even though that’s probably exactly the kind of show they’d want.  _

“Ah, here we are!” 

A laugh, thick with smugness and insincerity, snapped her out of a horrifying daydream of what might happen if she allowed her desire for Clarke to manifest in a place like this. Her head jerked up to take in a dark-haired woman, who was lying on her side on a low couch near the center of the room, being fed from a platter of fruit by a hand whose wrists clanked with chains. Even though hers weren’t bound, Lexa’s own ached with sympathy. The guards steered her over to the woman, who was attired so richly that Lexa knew who she was even before her escort ordered her to bow. “Era, we’ve brought you the Commander.” 

“So you have,” the woman purred. “Stand up straight, slave. Let me get a look at the famous Stallion of Tondisi.” 

Lexa did, tightening her jaw against the urge to strike the woman’s smirk off her face. This must be Ontari, owner of the ludus in which she was enrolled. While she wasn’t Lexa’s master, the possessive way in which her eyes swept across Lexa’s form—lingering between her legs, which made Lexa burn with fury—suggested that she held the reins of power in this place, and would not hesitate to make Lexa’s life hell if she was disobeyed.  _ Or even if she just feels like it. I wouldn’t put it past this kind of person.  _

After a final, lascivious glance, Ontari looked back at the guards who had brought her. “Very nice. I can see why that little Skyrat bought you. Tell me, is she getting her money’s worth?” 

Her voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise of the party, and Lexa was instantly aware of eyes burning into her skin. She had to unclench her jaw before she could answer. “I cannot say for certain. You will have to ask my domina yourself.” 

Ontari arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Such cheek. I may not be your domina,  _ Commander,  _ but you would do well to remember who owns this ludus. If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, I may strongly recommend that your mistress have it removed.” 

Lexa’s blood ran cold. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.” 

“Hmm,” Ontari said, looking unconvinced, but she turned her eyes over Lexa’s shoulder. “Anto, go and tell the Skaikru Ambassador that her slave is here.” One of the guards nodded and left, returning back down the hall. 

That left Lexa to be ogled by Ontari and her guests, which was, she realized, precisely what the noblewoman wanted. She was a curiosity. the Stallion of Tondisi, the disgraced former Commander of the rebellion, and it must be quite a coup for Ontari to have her here, an unwilling guest of her establishment. She likely wanted to make certain that all of Polis’s nobility knew that it was she who had such a prize in her possession, and to make it clear that if they wanted to get a glimpse of Lexa, it was Ontari who they would have to make their obeisances to. 

After what seemed like an eternity of feeling the avid, disgusted, covetous, or simply curious eyes of the party guests crawling like bugs along her skin, Lexa heard the footsteps of the guard returning. “Era, she asks that she be allowed to examine her slave in private.” Ontari’s lips turned down in a swift pout, but she waved her hand carelessly. 

“Fine. Take her away; I have no further need of her.” 

Lexa was escorted back down the hall and into an antechamber, where Clarke waited, pacing agitatedly. As soon as the guards had ushered Lexa into the room she snapped, “Leave us.” They followed her command with a knowing look, a look with implications that sent a shiver down Lexa’s spine. To her surprise, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Clarke did not seem to notice. "How are you?" she asked as soon as the guards disappeared through the heavy doors. "Are you all right? You weren't injured any further during your training, were you?"

Lexa's eyes widened. She still wasn't sure what to expect from her new domina, but the nervous nature of Clarke's concern surprised her. "No," she said. Clarke waited, as though expecting her to expand upon the answer, so she added, "Doctore seems able to keep the other recruits and the gladiators in line. I doubt any of them will try to kill me."

"Well, that's something," Clarke said, with an audible sigh of relief. She stepped closer, and the hairs on the back of Lexa's neck prickled. Suddenly, she was reminded of the sweltering bath they had shared—and her face began to heat up.

"Why did you bring me here?" Lexa asked. Part of her had been very glad to see Clarke earlier on the balcony above the training grounds, but now, she recalled what being with her new mistress was really like: extremely uncomfortable. She could never quite predict what Clarke would say or do, and that made her almost as uneasy as her equally unpredictable reactions to Clarke's nearness.

The ache between her legs was growing worse.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," Clarke said softly. "I didn't save you only to see you die in Ontari's ludus. That's almost as bad as dying in the ring." She reached out, and Lexa flinched, her shoulders stiffening until she felt the gentle graze of Clarke's fingertips against her lower lip. It took her a moment to realize Clarke was touching a cut there.

They remained silent for several moments. Dimly, Lexa realized that Clarke's touch had made the slight pain of the injury vanish. At last, she found her voice, although the movement of her lips caused Clarke to withdraw her fingers.

"I have no idea what you expect from me, Domina."

It was true. Clarke spoke easily enough of her desire for rebellion and her hatred of Nia, at least in private, but so far, she didn't seem to have a concrete plan—or if she did, she hadn't yet revealed it.  _ And I have no idea what I can offer her when she does, _ Lexa thought. She was no longer a Commander. Her people were dead or scattered to the winds, and she was a prisoner, a slave living on borrowed time.

"I expect you to survive, Lexa," Clarke said. "For now, that's all I need from you."

Lexa's breath caught as Clarke said her name. So far, no one else here had used it. Even before meeting Clarke, even before being imprisoned, the Trikru soldiers under her command had referred to her by her title.

"I will survive my training," Lexa murmured. Something in her was unsettled by the worried furrow in Clarke's smooth brow. "I've lived through far worse."

"It's not the training I'm afraid of," Clarke said. "Nia expects you to return to the ring eventually, sooner than I anticipated."

Lexa forgot her confusion. She snapped into focus, speaking in a clipped tone. "How do you know this?"

"Ontari has suggested it. It works to Nia's benefit if she pits you against more and more difficult opponents. The crowd will get the entertainment they expect, and she gets her execution—only slightly delayed."

"We already knew I would fight again," Lexa said, but Clarke shook her head.

"Yes. Allowing you to fight in the ring is part of all this. But I didn't think it would happen so soon. This speeds up my timeline. I'll need to put out feelers, figure out who else in court would benefit from Nia's deposition, and who might back us when the time comes. I thought I had more time..."

Lexa drew in a deep breath. This time, she was the one to reach out. She touched the edge of Clarke's shoulder—a gesture that was absolutely unacceptable coming from a slave, but that some part of her knew it would be well-received.

She was not wrong. Instead of withdrawing, Clarke looked up at her, and their eyes locked.

"If you need more time, time is what you will get. Long ago, I promised someone that I would live as long as I could. I'll make the same promise to you."

After a long beat, Clarke nodded. She turned, and Lexa let her hand fall away. Part of her couldn’t believe she had been so bold.

“Your survival is important, and not just because I don’t want to see you hurt. I plan on using your victories to raise an army from within Azgeda itself. Alone, the soldiers of the other clans can’t hope to face her.”

It did not take Lexa long to put the pieces together. “You plan to use the slaves,” she said, letting the possibility play out in her mind. It was risky. The probability of success was low. But still, she couldn’t deny that it was rather brilliant. The slave population was large, and they had no deep loyalty to Nia.

“Not just the slaves,” Clarke explained. “We will need more than that. Weapons, trained fighters… I will be the one providing those. I know the Ambassadors of the other clans and all the high ranking members of Nia’s court. I can get you resources, if you can win me the people.”

“And how am I going to win them?” Lexa asked. “I’m not a Commander anymore. Technically, I’m a slave.  _ Your _ slave.”

Clarke turned back around, soft blonde hair swishing about her shoulders, blue eyes sparkling. “Who better to inspire everyone else living under Nia’s boot? They won’t care about one of Azgeda’s champions. But you… you’re one of them. If you win, and win, and win again, they’ll start to believe that they can win, too. Besides, even though I didn’t want your training to take place here, Ontari’s ludus has lots of connections. If you make friends here, you can convince them to talk to their friends. As long as you choose your allies carefully, we could have a large force on our side in a short time.”

“It’s a risk,” Lexa pointed out. “If you plan to attach my name to this rebellion, and we’re discovered, Nia could simply have me executed.” 

Clarke did not deny it. “Yes. But what do you have to lose?”

Lexa already knew the answer. Nothing. She had no other plan, and nothing else to lose. If there was a chance, no matter how slim, that she could garner enough influence through her victories in the arena to weaken Nia’s tyrannical hold on the Empire, she owed it to her people to try. She owed it to Costia—and to Clarke, who had spared her life.

“You have more to lose than I do, Clarke. Why do you want to do this?”

“It’s not a matter of wanting to,” Clarke said. “It’s a matter of obligation. Joining forces with Nia means nothing more than a slightly more pleasant subjugation. It was a mistake to think otherwise -  _ my  _ mistake. And I intend to rectify it.” Clarke’s words were firm and her look was bold, and Lexa found, to her surprise, that the soft Ambassador, the pampered politician, had entirely fallen away. This was the face of a leader on the battlefield. “My people deserve freedom and autonomy. I just knew I couldn’t win it through force. So this is the method I’ve chosen. I fight for the same reasons you fought.”

Lexa found herself nodding before Clarke had even finished speaking and forced herself to stop, but she couldn’t stop hope from kindling once more in her heart. Someone who spoke like this, with such passion and conviction, was someone she felt she could come to trust, given enough time. 

_ You need to be careful,  _ her head told her, but her heart was thrilling to the call to arms in Clarke’s words.  _ Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can win. Maybe, someday, we can live our lives free of Nia’s tyranny.  _

But she was getting ahead of herself. There was still danger ahead, and a lot of it - both the upcoming fight, and what she could see in Clarke’s eyes as she took a step closer, close enough that she swore she could feel Clarke’s heat. She forced herself to focus on the other woman’s face so that she wouldn’t be undone by thoughts of how Clarke’s body would feel pressed against hers, just how warm and soft her skin would be when there was nothing between them at all… 

Lexa found herself entranced by the way Clarke’s tongue swept across her lips, wetting them before she spoke. “Are you with me?” she said, and Lexa could easily imagine the warmth of her breath against her own mouth. Somehow, she forced it to move.

“Yes,” she croaked. 

Clarke’s gaze flickered between Lexa’s eyes and her lips, a gesture of obvious desire, and Lexa could feel herself stirring beneath her tunic. She knew it wasn’t her place, knew she could be beaten and possibly even killed for reaching out and grasping her domina’s hips, pulling her close and letting Clarke feel exactly what she was doing to her, taking the kiss Clarke’s eyes were clearly begging for - but she was finding it harder and harder to remember why she cared. She was drowning in the dark blue pools of Clarke’s eyes, in the idea of how soft and sweet Clarke’s lips would be, in the thought of the sounds she could pull from Clarke’s throat with her hands and her mouth and her cock…

“Oh dear,” came a smug, delighted voice from the door, making Lexa jump. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

She saw Clarke come back to herself, taking an abrupt step back from Lexa and whirling on Ontari with a burning flush coloring her cheeks that somehow only made her more beautiful, made Lexa ache for her a little bit more. “You weren’t interrupting anything that was your business,” Clarke retorted swiftly, but Ontari wasn’t fazed. 

“Well, I’m terribly sorry in any case,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “But I wanted to extend an invitation to you and your new...pet -” her eyes raked along Lexa’s body, giving her the absurd urge to shift so that she was partially hidden behind Clarke - “to come and join our little gathering. I’m sure we’d all find it highly entertaining.” 

“I’m sure we would,” Clarke gritted out from behind a pasted-on smile. “However, my gladiator has had a hard day of training and needs her rest, and I have a summit on festival customs tomorrow morning to prepare for. I hope you and your guests won’t be too disappointed if I respectfully decline.” 

Ontari waved a heavily-bejeweled hand, as though to signify that there was no harm done. “No matter. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy getting to meet the Commander at the bacchanal after her next fight...if she survives, anyway.” 

“Oh, she will," Clarke said, her smile brightening terrifyingly. “I play to win, Ontari. Surely you remember that?”

Lexa was astonished to see a faint blush rise to the noblewoman’s heavily powdered cheeks. Her response was just as smooth as before, but it was clear that Clarke had scored a point in this particular duel. “We’ll just have to see.”

The two of them locked gazes for a long moment, long enough for Lexa to begin shifting uncomfortably, before Ontari said with a careless air, “Let me see you out. I’ll have my guards escort your gladiator back to the slave quarters.” Without waiting for Clarke to answer, she folded the younger woman’s hand over her arm and began towing her down the hall. Ontari’s guards entered a moment later, taking hold of her arms and steering her firmly back the way she’d come. But Lexa barely even noticed where they were going; they could have steered her off a cliff and she wouldn’t have realized it until she was in midair. Her mind was still filled with  _ Clarke:  _ the concern in her voice as she’d asked after Lexa’s wellbeing; the passion that had burned in her eyes as she’d spoken of her intent to rebel; the way she’d looked up at Lexa, lips slightly parted, as though she was about to ask for something…

  
_ Enough,  _ she told herself as the guards pushed her back into her cell in the now-silent slave quarters and locked the door behind them.  _ You can’t be thinking like this; your fight is just beginning.  _ And yet when she slipped into sleep, her body still humming with the intensity of her training and the memory of Clarke’s nearness, her dreams were of nothing else. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been a day and an age. But I promise we haven't abandoned this fic! We're still working on it, albeit at a slower pace as I (N1ghtwr1ter) am trying to finish up some older projects and also find a new day job :( However, we hope you enjoy this chapter. Please let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

Once more, Lexa found herself waiting in a dim room, trying to block out the distant roar of the crowd. As holding cells went, it far more pleasant than some of the others she had been imprisoned in. The stench of sweat and piss was absent, and all she could smell was heat. She could feel it all around her, cloying and humid as it clung to her skin.

She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Even from in here, she could taste the dryness of the sand hanging in the wet, thick air. It would probably rain soon, but before the guards had brought her indoors, there hadn't been a cloud in sight. She hoped she was right about the rain. It might give her an advantage on the battlefield. Fighting in awful weather conditions had been part of her Trikru training.

_Then again, if I'm to fight anyone from Azgeda, they will have had the same training..._

Lexa opened her eyes again. There was no use speculating before she had even seen her opponent. She had been led to believe that most gladiators were told about their matches in advance, but Doctore—or, rather, Ontari—had not seen fit to mention it. Technically speaking, she shouldn't have been fighting yet at all, since she wasn't officially a gladiator of Ontari's ludus.

Apparently, exceptions could be made.

Briefly, Lexa wondered if Clarke had tried to stall for more time. Her domina had seemed concerned for her safety in the arena, but their need was also urgent. The sooner Lexa fought, and won, her battles, the sooner they would be able to put their plans for rebellion into motion. Or perhaps she was overthinking things. Perhaps the order for her to 'perform' had come straight from Nia herself, and Clarke hadn't had much choice but to agree.

The timing didn't really matter. Lexa had no choice but to win.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the clank of metal and heavy footfalls. Someone was approaching. A moment later, the doors were opened, letting sunshine stream in through the thick grill of the gate. Lexa squinted to protect her eyes, struggling to adjust. She couldn't see much beyond the metal hatchwork but the swirl of golden sand.

"And here she is!" she heard the far-off announcer cry without the wooden doors in the way. "Spared from death only by our Queen's merciful hand, she is here to fight for your entertainment today! The savage, vicious Stallion of Tondisi!"

There was a roar from the crowd, but Lexa barely heard it over the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. The gate groaned as it was raised, and without much choice, she stepped into the arena. Aside from the jeering spectators, she was alone. There were no other figures waiting for her. Yet.

She tilted her face up, noting that the sky above was still clear. It was a baking blue-and-yellow, and the only clouds she could see were thin grey lines on the horizon. A weapons rack was positioned near the door, and she studied it. Most of the weapons were poorly made—probably on purpose. Azgeda was home to some of the finest smiths, and they could surely do better work than this. She found herself missing her swords.

Knowing that it was pointless to choose her weapons before she knew who, or what, she would be fighting, Lexa turned to face the arena’s opposite gate and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard a low rumbling, like distant thunder, as well as the clank of heavy chains. As the rumbling grew louder, Lexa found it harder and harder to force herself to relax. Whatever was in there was likely to be _big—_ some monstrous mutated animal from Nia’s menagerie, or maybe a whole army.

The opposing gate cranked open with aching slowness, revealing dark, matted fur and heavy, calloused knuckles. Dread coiled in Lexa’s stomach.

_No… There’s no way… She can’t be expecting me to fight a—_

“Pauna!” Ontari shouted gleefully, and the arena’s crowd went wild with gasps and shrieks. The massive animal roared as if on cue, yanking at its chains. Lexa could see a veritable army of handlers struggling to maintain control of it, but the beast had scented blood. They wouldn’t be able to hold it back for long.

For a moment, Lexa’s mind went blank. She had hunted pauna before, in the forests where she had grown up. When they got too close to a village or threatened someone’s crops or livestock, her people would send out hunting parties. But to her knowledge, no one had ever faced one of the beasts alone and survived. Pauna could rip someone limb from limb within moments, and delighted in doing so whenever possible. They were swift, smart, and deadly, and it took at least twenty of her people, along with carefully laid out plans and a myriad of traps, to bring one down.

All at once the array of weapons at her side seemed insultingly inadequate. _I might as well be facing this thing down with rocks and twigs._

But as the pauna began to drag itself into the ring despite its handlers’ attempts at holding it back, Lexa shook herself. If she was convinced that she was beaten before she began, she might as well lie down and wait for the pauna to take her. She had faced long odds before and come out victorious.

_Maybe not as long as these, though._

Darting a quick glance at the weapon rack, Lexa selected a short sword and a dagger. She remembered from her pauna hunts that the beasts were practically invulnerable. Arrows skipped off their pelts like gnats and swords could scarcely penetrate their thick fur to slice at the hard skin beneath. The only way to kill a pauna was to ram a sword into the sweet spot at the back of its head, where the skull met the neck.

 _Easy enough,_ she thought grimly, surveying the animal’s towering back as it turned to yank at its chains. _Now I just need to figure out how to get there. Perhaps if I ask it nicely…?_

Ontari was still shouting, but her words were drowned out by the pauna’s roars. It was in a frothing rage, desperate to get free of its captors and attack Lexa. With a bone-chilling shriek of triumph, the beast managed to yank one of the chains attached to its wrists away from its handlers. Immediately, the men holding the other chain dropped it and ran for the exit, apparently having decided that it wasn’t worth the risk of trying to hold it back long enough for Ontari to finish her speech. Lexa didn’t blame them.

Finally free, the pauna reared back onto its hind legs and roared, beating its chest with boulder-sized fists. Lexa could feel each blow reverberate in her own chest like a thunderclap. But as she watched the creature’s display of fury, she noticed that the thick, heavy manacles from which the chains swung appeared to be slowing it down somewhat. Her eyes narrowed. With the right kind of leverage and some careful footwork, she could turn that to her advantage.

 _All right,_ she thought, clasping her shortsword tighter. _Let’s begin this dance._

* * *

Clarke’s heart sank straight through the pit in her stomach as she stared at the circle of sand beneath her. On one side of the arena stood the pauna, rearing on its hind legs, giant arms swinging through the air. Clarke couldn’t hear the rattling of its giant chains, but only because the crowd’s delighted gasps drowned them out.

On the other side of the arena stood Lexa. She looked so impossibly small and thin, not at all the imposing figure she had cut before while facing down multiple gladiators. The pauna had to be three times her size at least.

_How can she possibly survive this?_

Clarke had faith in Lexa’s abilities, but this was no ordinary duel. How could a lone woman hope to defeat a monster? She didn’t have to look over at Nia, who was seated a few chairs over, to know this was all part of the Empress’s plan. There could be no call for mercy with a beast. Nia wouldn’t be able to spare Lexa’s life, no matter what the crowd chanted for.

It was either kill the pauna or be torn limb from limb.

Clarke gritted her teeth, swallowing around the knot of fear in her throat. There was nothing she could do. All the cunning and honeyed words in the world wouldn’t be enough to save Lexa from her fate. She could only watch—and maybe pray.

The pauna roared as it caught sight of Lexa. It reared again, beating its flat chest with its enormous fists. Lexa held her ground. She seemed to be waiting for something, although Clarke couldn’t imagine what. She found out a moment later. The pauna dropped to all fours, charging Lexa at breakneck speed.

At the last possible moment, Lexa moved. She dove to the side, tumbling across the sand just ahead of the beast’s swinging chains. She rolled back to her feet effortlessly as the creature skidded to a stop, confused and angry.

The pauna shrieked its rage, reaching a pitch that sent terror lancing through Clarke’s very bones. Even several hundred feet away, safe in the stands, she recoiled in fear.

Beside her, she heard a low laugh. It was Ontari, who was watching her instead of the arena below. “I don’t envy your pet now,” she said, giving Clarke a look that might have been an attempt at faking sympathy. “But for your sake, I hope she wins. It would be a shame for you to lose her so soon.”

Clarke fought the impulse to clench her fingers into fists. If she appeared too concerned, she might arouse suspicion—not just from Ontari, but from Nia, who was probably listening to every word of their conversation even as she followed the battle below.

“I hope so too,” she said, with as much calmness as she could muster. “But if not, at least I got to enjoy her for a few days first. Her purchase wasn’t a total waste.”

Ontari seemed to accept that, because she looked back down at the sands of the arena, allowing Clarke to do the same. She caught sight of Lexa’s small, shadowy figure beneath the glaring sun just as she dodged another swing of the pauna’s fists. Lexa was fast, but so was the pauna. It dogged her every move, and even at a full sprint, Lexa couldn’t outrun it. She was left to dodge and kick up sand—which also made it hard for Clarke to see her.

The beast did not appreciate being taunted. It roared its rage to the sky, sharp teeth gleaming in its gaping mouth. Clarke tried, and failed, not to imagine those teeth piercing and crushing Lexa’s broken body.

But Lexa wasn’t broken yet. She was circling toward the other edge of the arena with something that seemed like purpose. Clarke couldn’t see her plan, but something in her believed Lexa had one. The former Commander was possessed of a keen mind, and her strategies had won her as many battles as her courage. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. How could someone plan against pure animal instinct?

Clarke’s hands shook in her lap. Each time Lexa dove for the sand, she forgot to breathe until the Commander righted herself again, just ahead of the pauna’s fists. Sweat ran down along her temple.

_What on earth are you trying to do?_

***

 _Just a few more steps._ Lexa grunted as she threw herself left, away from the pauna’s grasping hand. Just a few more steps, and she would be at the gate.

So far, she and the beast were at a stalemate. She was faster, but only by a hair’s breadth. It couldn’t club her, at least not yet, but neither could she find an opening to hop on its back and find the weak spot behind its skull. If she tried, it would surely rip her off and tear her apart.

Unless, of course, she managed to hamper its movement.

Those chains were the key. One of them came whistling by, almost striking her head. She managed to duck just in time. Flying free, they were dangerous, but they had been used to restrain the pauna once. They could do so again. She just needed something to attach them to.

The raised gate was her only hope. The guards had lowered the grillwork again, probably to protect themselves in case the pauna turned on them after its release. Now, it would serve her purpose.

The pauna roared, loud enough to make her ears ache, sending flecks of spit flying near her face. Lexa’s body trembled with instinctive fear, but she pushed past it, as she had been taught. She had to keep breathing. Keep moving. Stay out of reach

The beast swung again, and this time, Lexa wasn’t quite fast enough. Its huge knuckles clipped the edge of her right shoulder, and Lexa’s vision flashed bright white with pain. She cried out, stumbling back without thinking, which turned out to be fortunate. The pauna had tried to grab her.

No. She couldn’t die like this. What would happen to Clarke… ?

Even in the heat of battle, she corrected herself. What would happen to Clarke’s plans of rebellion? Clarke needed her to win. There was no other option—for either of them.

She rushed for the gate, ignoring the pain in her limp arm. Her shoulder was on fire, and she couldn’t move it properly, so she dropped her shortsword onto the ground, keeping hold of the dagger in her left hand instead. Hopefully it would plunge deep enough.

The pauna thundered after her, shaking the ground as it ran—but Lexa made it to the gate first. She watched death rush straight for her, waiting for the perfect moment.

Just as she had hoped the pauna’s chains came flying ahead of its fists. They clattered against the metal gate, and Lexa took her change. She dodged the creature’s grabbing hands, and then threaded the chains through the gaps in the gate’s grill. The broken manacles fit—barely. The pauna attempted to pull back its arms, but it was no use. It was chained to the same gate that had imprisoned it before.

Lexa took her change. While the pauna bellowed in fury, she put her dagger between her teeth and hopped up onto its back, twisting her hands into its thick fur. It jumped and thrashed, trying to shake her off, but with its movements hampered, she managed to cling on. Grunting with exertion, her right arm half-useless, she managed to climb nonetheless. She hauled herself up the creature’s broad, sloping back and positioned herself between its shoulderblades, where she could reach the base of its skull.

The pauna roared. It tried to turn on her, and Lexa could see the flash of its enormous fangs, as well as its angry yellow eyes. But it couldn’t twist its neck far enough to grab her in its mouth. Lexa took her chance. Before it could figure out a way to reach her, she raised her left arm high above her head and plunged the dagger home.

At first she wasn’t certain whether she’d managed to hit the right spot, or whether the dagger was long enough to reach its target. The pauna continued roaring and thrashing, swinging its head around wildly. Lexa clung to the weapon she’d embedded in its head as a handhold, but it was swiftly growing slippery with blood, and she only had one good arm. One mighty shake of the beast’s shoulders, and she was suddenly flying through the air.

Lexa hit the hot sand of the arena floor on her bad side, the impact punching the air out of her lungs in a harsh cry. The sound was swallowed up by the pauna’s shrieks, but they had taken on a different, almost desperate quality. For a moment, Lexa considered just letting her head drop to the sand. If her death was coming, she didn’t want to see it. But the odd timbre of the beast’s voice convinced her otherwise. When she looked up, she was glad that she had: the animal’s struggles were growing weaker, its limbs contorting in odd ways. As she stared at it, she could see the insane fire dying in its eyes, heralded by a red trickle from its eye socket.

To the very last, the pauna fought to reach her, to rip her limb from limb. As much as Lexa might have feared her opponent, she had to admire its tenacity. Eventually, however, the furious light in its eyes went out, and the creature slumped to the floor. It was only at that moment that Lexa realized she’d actually won.

***

The arena was eerily silent in the absence of the pauna’s roars. Clarke had watched the entire duel play out with her own eyes, and even though she was currently staring at the blood seeping out from under the beast’s massive head, she still wasn’t entirely certain of what she’d seen.

_Lexa...Lexa just killed that...thing? She won. She actually...won?_

Clarke remained frozen in her seat, eyes wide and mind blank, until a low groan filtered up from the arena floor. Slowly and painfully, Lexa was attempting to drag herself into a standing position. She moved like someone three times her age, looking like every inch of her body ached, and Clarke found herself suddenly curtailing the insane impulse to fly to her and help her up. But the victory was Lexa’s, and this was something she was going to have to do on her own.

Freed from her inert state, Clarke darted a sideways glance at the upper dais to her left. Ontari was standing at the Empress’s side, eyes and mouth comically wide, and Clarke stifled a smirk. But she was more interested in the Empress herself. The fate of the Empire and its citizens rested upon the uncertain tides of Nia’s emotions, and Clarke knew that the one thing Nia hated above all else was finding herself in a bind, without any options.

Nia had been expecting, just like everyone else—including Clarke, she thought guiltily—that Lexa would die horribly. A beast like the pauna didn’t know the meaning of mercy or forbearance, and there was no way Nia could be faulted for not granting it to Lexa before she was torn apart or crushed between the thing’s jaws. But against all of the odds—odds which meant, Clarke thought with a sudden spark of glee, that Ontari had probably just lost a fortune—Lexa had defeated the monster. Nia’s attempt at execution had failed.

 _Well, that’s your own fault,_ she thought, staring at the Empress’s face, frozen in a rictus of fury. _You’re the one who decided that death by pauna was the way to go. And now you’ll have to deal with the consequences of making Lexa into a legend._

Nia was not Empress for nothing, however. She recovered quickly, plastering on a false smile. She nodded to Ontari, who scurried to obey the silent command.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ontari yelled, projecting her voice as far as possible. The crowd went silent, holding its breath. “I give you your victor: Leksa of Azgeda, the Stallion of Tondisi!”

The stands erupted. Everyone cheered, their voices blending together into the roar of an ocean. While some might have been on the pauna’s side in the beginning—Lexa was far from a popular figure in Azgeda—human tenacity had won out, and they couldn’t help but admire her achievement. The cheers took on a rhythmic quality, increasing in volume and enthusiasm, until they resolved into a recognizable word: “Lek-sa! Lek-sa! Lek-sa!”

Their enthusiasm was infectious. Clarke took up the chant herself, cupping her hands around her mouth to join the rhythmic cry: “Lexa!” Her heart soared in her breast as Lexa turned toward her, injured and bleeding, but unbroken. She dropped to one knee, and Clarke somehow knew that Lexa was bowing for her, and not for Nia and her entourage.

 _Maybe,_ Clarke thought as she looked out over the crowd, shouting and screaming for her battered but unbroken champion, _our plan will work. Maybe she can inspire enough slaves and commoners to join in our rebellion against Nia. Maybe…_

Lexa slumped to the ground, sending up a light puff of sand. Clarke’s stomach lurched. Maybe Lexa hadn’t been bowing for her after all. She might have been exhausted, or worse.

She stood impulsively, but a look from Nia had her sitting back down. She couldn’t show too much concern.

“You must be glad, Clarke,” the Empress said, studying her with a suspicious eye.

“Not too glad,” Clarke replied, steadying her voice as much as possible. “I won’t be able to have any fun with her for several days, if not weeks. Did you really have to use a pauna?”

Nia smiled—a cold smile like light shining off the edge of a dagger. “I had to even the odds. Pitting her against regular gladiators offers the audience nothing.”

Clarke did not reply. Her eyes remained fixed on the arena, where two guards had come to take Lexa away. Lexa waved them off, climbing to her feet herself through sheer stubbornness. Clarke couldn’t help but admire that. Lexa had to know this was part of her victory: exiting the arena under her own power. As she limped toward the gate, the crowd continued cheering. The raucous noise didn’t subside until the iron grate slammed down behind Lexa.

 _I have to see her,_ Clarke thought. _Soon. I have to make sure she’s all right._

But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t leave the royal box early. She still had a part to play. Otherwise, Lexa’s victory and sacrifice would be for nothing.

* * *

Everything in Lexa’s body ached.

Even though the pauna hadn’t bitten her, she felt as though its huge jaws had chewed her up and spit her back out. The whole of her was one large bruise. Blood streaked the side of her face, leaving the scent of copper in her nose. The inside of her left thigh was deeply scored from the edge of one of the pauna’s rusted chains. Her right arm hung limp and useless by her side. She could clench her fingers, barely, but couldn’t lift it no matter how hard she tried.

She had been taken to a small room, one that thankfully didn’t stink, but which was also devoid of furniture. The only smell was something faintly medical, and there was a series of shelves that, had she possessed any more energy, Lexa might have inspected. From her position on the room’s lone cot, she could only assume the jars on it were full of herbs and other supplies.

The sound of the door opening made Lexa’s heart jolt. She looked up, prepared to face whatever unfortunate doctor they had ordered to see to her most basic injuries, but to her surprise, she saw a familiar face instead.

“Clarke.”

She couldn’t keep the warmth out of her voice when she said the Ambassador’s name. Part of her had hoped—foolishly, she’d told herself—that Clarke would eventually check to make sure she was in one piece, to protect her investment and coconspirator at the very least. But the fact that Clarke had rushed to her side almost made the effort she had gone through to kill the pauna worth it. Almost.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” Clarke said, somewhat breathlessly. She seemed exhilarated, but that aura was quickly replaced by concern. She closed the door behind her, hurrying not to the bed, but to the shelves Lexa had noted earlier. She began pulling things from them, including a large roll of bandages.

“I barely believe it myself,” Lexa said as she watched Clarke’s hands fly among the bottles and boxes and pouches.

Clarke turned toward her, one strand of golden hair sticking to her cheek. She was covered in a fine coat of sweat, although Lexa was certain it was nothing compared to the blood and grime her skin was smeared with. “You were lucky. You could have been killed, climbing on the beast like that.”

“I would have been killed if I didn’t,” Lexa pointed out.

Clarke heaved a sigh, but she approached the cot with her armful of supplies. “Strip off your shirt. I’m your physician today.”

Lexa had to fight a blush. She supposed she preferred Clarke, who had seen her nearly naked, to a stranger in Nia’s employ, but the prospect was still embarrassing. Clarke’s instructions were also impossible to follow.

“I’m afraid I will need your help with the shirt.”

She demonstrated her limited range of movement by trying and failing to lift her arm.

Clarke’s brow furrowed. She reached for Lexa’s elbow, pulling the arm gently one way and then the other. Lexa tried and failed not to hiss in pain.

“You’ve dislocated it. Stand up. I can fix it, but I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

Lexa let out a chuckle that bore more than a passing resemblance to stones grinding together. “Pain isn't an issue.”

Clarke’s frown only deepened as her fingers traveled with gentle sureness along Lexa’s joint, testing and probing. Lexa made a valiant attempt, but was unable to suppress her winces and grunts of discomfort. Eventually, she stopped trying; Clarke had seen her in worse straits. It must have been a measure of her exhaustion that she found the thought comforting.

Eventually, Clarke seemed to have found what she was looking for. Maneuvering Lexa into a position near the wall, the Skayon ordered her to brace herself against it and not to move, no matter how much it hurt. “We’re lucky that it hasn't had much time to swell up, but we don't have long.”

Lexa nodded, firming her jaw. “Just do it. I’m ready.” She only had time to realize that Clarke might not appreciate receiving orders from her slave before every thought in her head was obliterated by a bright spark of pain.

Clarke had seized hold of her shoulder and arm, and, with strength Lexa hadn't guessed she possessed, snapped the joint back into its socket. For a moment, Lexa’s vision went white, an odd floating feeling creeping into her limbs. When she returned to herself, she was slumped half on top of Clarke, and the Skayon was helping her stagger back over to the cot.

“Lie back and drink this,” Clarke ordered, in the tone not of a mistress to her slave but a doctor to her patient. Lexa obeyed, and cool water flowed down her parched throat, returning some of the feeling to her legs.

For a little while, she simply allowed herself to bask in the luxury of not being on her feet, of not having chains around her wrists and ankles, of not having to worry about threats to her existence. She just lay there, watching Clarke bustle around the room, mixing up various tinctures and tonics and letting the dull throb in her shoulder remind her that she was alive. But then Clarke made her way back over, vigorously stirring something in a wooden bowl. After gently but thoroughly cleaning out the cut on Lexa’s temple, she began slathering a foul-smelling paste across it that stung unexpectedly.

“Ah, fuck!”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “So you can duke it out with a pauna and get your shoulder set without so much as a whimper, but a little antiseptic is what does the great Commander in?”

Lexa just growled at her before realizing that she'd yet again not shown Clarke the respect she was ‘owed’ as her domina, but Clarke didn't seem to mind. She simply resumed cleaning and binding Lexa’s wounds, her touch cool and gentle and professional. Lexa found herself almost leaning in, enjoying how good it felt to be taken care of like this. To be the one worried about, instead of constantly looking after others.

When she glanced up at Clarke again, the ambassador gave her a look filled with sympathy and understanding. Lexa felt a bolt of something pass through her. _I guess she_ would _understand something about this, anyway,_ she thought, watching as Clarke wiped her hands clean with a towel. _She has to do what’s best for her people too._

Clarke’s fair skin took on a becoming rosy hue as she told Lexa, “All right, I've done everything I can do so far, but now you need to take off your shirt so I can look at your ribs. The pauna definitely got in some good hits and we need to be sure nothing’s broken.”

Lexa didn't think anything was, but she remembered how even the creature’s glancing blows had felt like being struck by a battering ram. Averting her eyes, she began the slow, wincing process of raising her shirt over her head.

While her shoulder was no longer dislocated, it was still painfully stiff and sore, and soon Lexa was forced to give Clarke a pleading look. “I don't know if I can—”

“Here, let me—”

Their fingers brushed at the hem of Lexa’s tunic, and she could feel heat flooding her cheeks. Quickly she raised her hands, allowing Clarke to draw the garment over her head without further comment.

To her credit, Clarke did her best to retain her professional demeanor, not letting her hands wander as she gently palpated the bruising on Lexa’s sides. But the furious blush on her face only darkened, and Lexa felt every brush of her fingers like the lick of tiny flames. All of a sudden she was simultaneously aware that a significant amount of the blood in her body appeared to be rushing south, and Clarke’s hands were trailing along her abdomen. She’d only need to dip a little lower to reach below Lexa’s waistband, wrapping around the hard shaft swelling inside...

An obnoxiously loud rapping on the door made both of them jump, shooting identically guilty and panicked looks at each other. Lexa reached for her tunic, struggling to draw it over her head as Clarke flew over to the door.

It burst open just as her hand reached the knob to reveal Ontari, looking excitedly around the room. Her expression soured as she realized that she hadn't caught them doing anything untoward, but brightened again as she caught sight of Lexa, who hasn't quite managed to fight her way back into her tunic. “Apologies for interrupting,” she said delightedly, “but the Empress tasked me with delivering an invitation to the grand bacchanal to be held in your champion’s honor this evening.”

Lexa sagged momentarily in exhaustion and disbelief. She had just defeated a pauna all on her own, for the Spirit’s sake! Surely she couldn't be expected to attend a _party!_

But Clarke took it all in stride. “While I am honored to accept, I must caution Her Majesty that Lexa is not to exert herself much further, lest her injuries render her incapable of providing us with another masterful performance.”

Ontari’s eyes took on a knowing glint. “So noted. But surely you’re worried about her performance... well, suffering?” she asked, nodding in reference to Lexa’s state of undress.

She felt her blush deepen further as Clarke replied in a similar tone, “Oh, she’s well up to the task, I can assure you. Everything _important_ is still in good working order.”

But the innuendo only served to widen Ontari’s smirk. “I should certainly hope so,” she purred, eyes roving up and down Lexa’s form unabashedly. “We wouldn't want her to be too tired for this evening’s entertainment.” Before either of them had a chance to demand a further explanation, she swept from the room, a low, throaty chuckle ghosting along in her wake.

Clarke let out a low breath, and when she turned around, Lexa saw that her hands were balled into fists. “I hate her so much,” she gritted out, and she looked so furious that Lexa had the absurd urge to comfort her. But another matter was more pressing.

“What did she mean by the ‘evening’s entertainment?’” she asked hollowly, feeling worry creeping up her throat.

Clarke just shook her head. “I have no clue,” she said grimly, “but knowing Nia, it’s not gonna be good.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait (again) on this one, but hope you enjoy it! Now you get to find out exactly what Nia has in store for Lexa...and it's a doozy. Luckily, Clarke's there for her. As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

The only thing Clarke despised more than going to Empress Nia’s ‘celebrations’ was getting ready for one. Though the infamous palace dinner parties were loud, demanding, and often dangerous—even to the point of an execution or two—she could, at least, move her face and drink wine. Not so while her make up rested. The chalk foundation hadn’t yet settled and only one eyelid was outlined in kohl. Clarke squinted as she moved to the other side, focusing intently on the mirror.

_ What did Ontari mean by ‘entertainment’?  _ Her tone had possessed obvious sexual intent, but could there be more? Was Nia planning something? Something that could put Lexa in danger yet again, even after her narrow brush with the pauna?  _ That would be just like Nia. Give Lexa some other impossible task at the feast while she’s already injured and exhausted. And when she fails… less public outcry if she’s executed in private. _

Worse still, there was only so much Clarke could do to defend her. She was no warrior, but even if she had been, she couldn’t defy Nia’s orders until the time was right. Without the proper political support, she would end up dead or worse - after watching Lexa’s execution.

_ Whatever Nia is planning, I need to make her see the value in letting Lexa live. _

So far, Clarke had done her best to hide her sympathies in front of the Empress. She had expended every effort to make her interest seem like mere amusement, something trivial and lustful. Perhaps, though… maybe if she let a little of her true emotions slip through, Nia might see fit to let Lexa live, if only to gain more power over the Skaikru ambassador.

It was a dangerous gamble, but one Clarke considered carefully as she finished applying her lip color. Bright red was the popular choice, for lips as well as cheeks. Smearing it on, she felt more like she was applying warpaint. This would be a battle, one that required the most deliberate strategy…

Strategy that flew completely out the window as a soft knock sounded on her door. Clarke leapt out of her chair, pausing to calm herself a few seconds later. She knew who was outside without being told. Taking a deep breath, she called out in answer. “You may enter.”

The door opened, revealing Echo, two guards in ornate breastplates, and…

_ Lexa. _

She had been given clean clothes, although they could hardly be called that. In a loincloth and chest bindings, she looked more the ‘slave’ part of being a gladiator—something Clarke did not appreciate, even as she admired the unbruised parts of Lexa’s exposed skin.

“I see you’ve brought my escort,” she said to Echo, refusing to acknowledge the guards at all. Next, she gave Lexa a genuine smile—one Echo was certain to report to Nia the next time they conversed.

“Yes, Ambassador,” Echo murmured, aiming her eyes at the floor.

“You are dismissed,” Clarke said, waving her away even as she fixed her gaze hungrily on Lexa—a deliberate acting choice, but one she found easy to make. “I have no further need of assistance.”

Echo departed, the guards following behind her. From the amused looks they were trying to hide behind their stone faces, Clarke could tell that they had strong suspicions about what would happen after they left. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for a noblewoman to indulge in a bit of rough with an attractive commoner, or even a slave.

Only when the door closed and the sound of retreating footsteps faded did Clarke speak. “Let’s get you into something more suitable for the party,” she said, her smile much softer. “The least I can do is make sure you’re dressed like the victorious warrior you are.”

“Won’t that aggravate the Empress?” Lexa asked. She seemed tired, with obvious dark circles under her eyes.

“Of course,” Clarke said. “But we’ll do it anyway. It’s part of making sure you stay safe tonight.”

“You think Nia’s going to try something,” Lexa murmured darkly.

“Definitely. But I won’t let that happen. And it starts with showing all of her guests your worth.”

Lexa gave her a dubious look. “And why are we trying to impress a bunch of spoiled nobles?”

Clarke ignored the implication that she herself was one of those ‘spoiled nobles’ as she strode over to her closet and began rummaging around in the back. “Because some of those _spoiled nobles_ might be persuaded to be sympathetic to our cause, and to provide arms and soldiers once we make our move. That, and Nia will be less likely to kill you tonight if it would disappoint her guests.” 

Turning back to face Lexa, she held up a set of garments and squinted, trying to imagine how well they’d fit the Commander. They had once been Finn’s, sewn for him during a rather ridiculous fashion trend in which he and his fellow petty nobles affected to dress like warriors, despite never having even drawn a sword. But their vanity had caused them to compete amongst each other to have the most ornate ‘armor,’ and of course it could not be uncomfortable—resulting in utterly impractical designs like this one. 

Lexa would be wearing a set of loose, flowing pantaloons, which were cinched at the calves by greaves embossed in gold. Her stomach would be bare, but she would wear a leather pauldron capped with a thin slice of jewel-encrusted metal over one shoulder. The clothes were made for someone a little taller and broader than Lexa—who, for all her legendary status, was still disturbingly slight—but the extra muscle that encased her frame should make up the difference. 

Clarke caught Lexa making a face at the garments and shook her head. “Put these on. I know they're absolutely ridiculous, but you’ll conform to their expectations of what a warrior looks like. And if I'm right about tonight, you’ll need all the armor you can get.”

***

Lexa had heard plenty about the infamous bacchanals of Queen Nia’s court, where lavish excess and deviant debauchery combined to the greatest heights of depravity. But she had never imagined that she would be attending one herself—and as the guest of honor, no less.

_ Not exactly how I imagined making my entrance into Nia’s palace,  _ she thought as she made her way up the marble steps, Clarke’s hand burning on her arm. She had long dreamed of ascending these steps at the head of an army, bloody and victorious. But now, as she passed through the soaring columns, flanked by looming statuary depicting Azgeda’s gods, most of whom bore a striking resemblance to Nia, she was heading into the Empress’s inner sanctum, not to burn it down, but to take part in the revelry.

_ Not that I had a choice… _

The steel collar around her neck and the fine gold chain attached to it reinforced that sentiment. Clarke was doing her best to hold it loosely, giving her as much freedom of movement as possible, but the quietly clinking metal served as a constant reminder that she was here at Nia’s pleasure—and could be disposed of similarly. 

Despite the serene face Clarke had plastered across her features, she could tell that her domina was nervous. Even if she hadn't been privy to Clarke’s anxious fluttering in the hours leading up to their arrival, the tension in her fingers where they gripped Lexa’s arm would have told her. That Clarke was worried made Lexa even more so. They were going into battle, but of a different kind than any she’d ever faced. Her people had their festivals, formal occasions over which she’d been expected to preside, but they were far less ostentatious—simple celebrations of joy and survival and a good harvest. In this situation, however, she was totally out of her depth. Her only chance lay in trusting Clarke to steer them safely through these uncharted waters.

They were brought up short by a pair of massive, ornately carved doors, which presumably led to Nia’s throne room. As the guards called out their names, announcing their presence, Lexa sucked in a breath and held it, counting in her head in a vain attempt to quell the nervous fluttering of her stomach. 

The doors groaned open, and despite her best efforts, Lexa couldn't prevent herself from gaping. The room was dim except for torches illuminating a wide variety of scenes. People were eating, drinking, laughing, lounging in decadent poses on equally decadent furniture… and many of them were fucking while others watched.

Lexa didn't want to look any further, but she couldn't help noticing the sights as she made her way through that gauntlet of a party. A pair of women was taking turns sucking the cock of a tall man whose muscles gleamed with oil, straining against the ropes that bound him to a post. A dark-haired woman was laid out on a divan, moaning loudly as she was serviced by another on her hands and knees, who was in turn being fucked from behind by another man… 

The poses and scenarios varied widely, but they all began to blur together the more she took in. The guests clustered around each platform like moths to a candle, or milled about between them with drinks in hand, gazing languidly at the vigorous motions and sharp cries. But what captured Lexa’s attention above all was the gleaming golden circlets around each performer’s throat, gilded echoes of the steel around her own. They were all slaves, Lexa realized bitterly, performing at the behest of their mistress, Empress Nia.

The tyrant in question was resting on a long, low couch on the dais that held her throne, the perfect location from which to oversee the bacchanal. Nia looked vaguely bored, as though the spectacles she had commissioned had failed to entertain her, but the moment she caught sight of Clarke and Lexa, a spark of interest entered her cold blue eyes. Lexa’s entire body burned with fury as Nia gazed down at them, beckoning them with the crook of a finger to approach. It had never been harder to keep her face free of her emotions.

But as they neared the dais, Lexa found that her attention was diverted, even as her hatred of Nia burned hotter than ever. There was a wide, circular platform at the base of Nia’s plinth, and although it was also illuminated by torches, it held no performers—only a plush chaise lounge with subtle manacles along its edge. As she looked at it, the bottom dropped out of Lexa’s stomach. 

_ No...Spirit no, she can't be meaning me to… _

But as she looked back up and met Nia’s cruel gaze, she knew that she’d perfectly divined the Empress’s intent.

Few things left Lexa truly afraid. She was a trained Trikru warrior, the leader of her people. Just that afternoon, she had faced a pauna alone and lived. But one of the few things that did send a lance of fear stabbing straight through her gut was the thought of being exposed before a crowd.

Costia had been her one and only lover, the only person she had trusted enough to bare herself for. This game Nia was playing, this disgusting display, was clearly meant to humiliate her. And to Lexa’s fury, it was already working, even though she hadn’t taken off a scrap of the ridiculous clothing Clarke had dressed her in.

For just a moment, Lexa’s control slipped. She let the terror welling up inside her slip through the cracks and bleed out to the surface, glancing away from Nia and sideways at Clarke for—what? Reassurance?

To her surprise, Clarke caught and held her frantic gaze. While Lexa’s heart raced, Clarke’s face remained calm and steady. She projected an aura of confidence, and her soft blue eyes said, ‘trust me’.

“Empress Nia,” Clarke said, making her bow. She tugged Lexa’s chain, urging her to do the same. Normally, the gesture would have galled her more, but she was still too distracted by Nia’s obvious expectations to object.

“Ambassador.”

Nia’s gaze settled on Clarke for only a moment before shifting over to Lexa. It wasn’t hungry, not in a sexual way, but it was deeply unsettling nonetheless. Lexa knew she probably wasn’t taking sadistic pleasure in what she was doing—and that almost made it more terrifying. Her plan was entirely strategic, calculated, meant to strike at Lexa’s weakest points, to gain yet more power.

“I see you’ve brought our guest of honor. I’m sure you’ll appreciate watching her partake of the spoils of victory.”

Lexa’s fists clenched despite herself, but Clarke only gave Nia a honeyed smile. “As you requested.” She gestured at the manacles with her other hands. “But surely there is no need for those restraints. My gladiator will be more than willing to perform.”

Lexa inhaled sharply, her pulse spiking yet again.  _ Perform? What is she talking about? _ Her heart clenched with betrayal, and her first instinct was to jerk away from Clarke in hurt. But before she could, Clarke threaded a hand through her arm, pulling her close and rubbing sinuously against her side. Lexa quickly got herself under control.  _ You have to trust her. She must have a plan… _

“It’s nice to see you have a measure of control over her, despite her…unpredictability.” Nia turned to Ontari, who was standing obediently beside her throne. “Ontari, see that a suitable slave is brought to perform with her.”

“Of course, Empress—”

“Oh, there’s no need,” Clarke said with a smooth wave of her hand. “She will perform with me.”

Lexa didn’t gasp herself, but she heard the people around them do so. She hadn’t realized Clarke’s conversation with Nia had attracted a crowd, so focused had she been on the Empress, but there it was: a growing group of people surrounding them, clearly curious to see the Stallion of Tondisi in action. The thought disgusted her less than usual, but only because Clarke’s statement had shocked her, leaving room for no other thoughts.

_ Clarke _ was going to perform with her? A high-ranking noble, demeaning herself to fuck a slave? In public, no less? It was unheard of. Nobles often slept with slaves, of course. It was a part of life in the festering pit of Azgeda, one Lexa had been determined to bring an end to once she and her army were victorious. But it was something done with at least the veneer of secrecy. Throughout the rest of the party, the divide was clear: slaves performed with other slaves, while nobles indulged with each other in the background, as part of the audience.

Even Nia seemed surprised. Her blue eyes widened, but it was Ontari who spoke first: “You can’t be serious, Clarke,” she said, to several murmurs of agreement. “You’re an Ambassador for your people! And she is…”

“ _ My _ slave,” Clarke said, with extra emphasis. “So why should I share her? Why should I watch another woman enjoy my property?”

The statement made no sense—there was absolutely  _ no  _ way Clarke could benefit, politically or otherwise, from going through with this. Realization struck Lexa like a thunderbolt. Whatever Clarke was doing, she was doing it for her: not to advance their plot, but simply to offer protection, as she had already done countless times since their meeting. The wave of understanding left Lexa utterly speechless.

Nia, however, was not surprised into silence.

“As you wish,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching into a smirk.

Lexa gritted her teeth. Of course Nia would agree. To watch Clarke debase herself would give her even more power over both of them. Part of her wanted to protest, to tell Clarke to drop this foolish idea, but the words stuck in her throat. The thought of performing with someone else was gutting, but the thought of performing with Clarke… Against her will, her body began to respond. She felt herself stiffen, straining against her loincloth.

To Lexa’s horror, Clarke noticed. She slid her hand down along the bared muscles of Lexa’s stomach, cupping the growing bulge as lightly as possible. It was only a graze—Clarke was obviously trying not to squeeze her, to leave her at least a little dignity—but to the audience, Lexa was sure it looked like firm contact.

And it was also enough to make her throb.

Lexa didn’t have time to think. Clarke leaned in, and she forgot how to breathe. The scent of Clarke’s perfume coiled into her nose, and her mouth went utterly dry as Clarke’s lips drew closer and closer to hers.

“Let me handle this,” Clarke whispered, barely moving her mouth.

Lexa could barely process the words. Everything was happening so fast, and her brain had completely shut down.

When Clarke kissed her, warmth flooded her entire body. It started at their joined lips, then raced through her veins like fire, pounding to every extremity. Clarke’s mouth was warm and soft and—

_ No, _ Lexa told herself, her inner strategist returning.  _ You have to focus. You have to make this look real. Clarke is trying to protect you. Don’t let her risk be in vain. _

She kissed Clarke back with all the passion she had—and, to her embarrassment, not all of it was faked.

“Do be kind, Ambassador,” Nia called, jolting Lexa out of the haze of  _ Clarke  _ that she had been sinking into despite herself. “Even if you won’t allow her to partake of any of my pleasure slaves, our guests are still expecting a show.” 

Lexa felt Clarke begin to draw back, and reluctantly followed suit. The Skayon wore a flaming blush, and Lexa felt her trousers grow just a bit tighter at the realization that while it began at Clarke’s cheeks, it continued down her neck, her chest, and...lower still. But she pushed past the fog of lust seeping through her brain long enough to murmur, “You don't need to do this.”

“No, but you do,” Clarke fired back. “And I'm going to be with you.” 

Lexa felt her chest lurch curiously at the declaration, a feeling that she hadn't ever thought she'd experience again in her life beginning to grow. Thankfully, she didn't have long to contemplate it, because Clarke had taken hold of her chain and was tugging her up the steps of the platform. Lexa had no choice but to follow.

They stood several feet above everyone else, illuminated by the ring of torches, and for a moment all Lexa could feel was the weight of all the eyes on her. She was no stranger to public speaking. As Commander of Trikru, she had addressed her army and her people countless times without incident. But this was different. The gazes on her were covetous or desirous or simply eager to see her as a curiosity revealed to their prying eyes, and it made her want to shrink into the floor. 

But then Clarke gave the chain at her neck a minute tug, forcing Lexa’s attention back to her. “Focus on me and only on me,” she demanded, making it sound like an order she was giving her slave—but Lexa knew the truth. She was laying out the steps that would help Lexa get through this experience. 

“I am the only one you should be looking at,” Clarke continued, stepping in close and using the chain to pull Lexa closer. With Clarke this near, so near that Lexa could feel her breath against her own mouth as she spoke, it was suddenly much easier to obey. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Domina,” Lexa mumbled, barely able to get the words out with how much she wanted to kiss Clarke, the eyes of Nia’s vultures be damned.

“Do you trust me?” Clarke asked, low, and Lexa realized that this question was for her alone. After a moment of pondering, Lexa realized that deep under layers of fear and lust and awe, she truly did trust Clarke.

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Then kiss me,” Clarke told her. Without hesitation, Lexa leaned in and brought their lips crashing together.

***

_ What are you doing? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What are you—  _

The words continued to march through Clarke’s brain, even as she declared her intent to Nia, stepped onto the platform, and tugged Lexa toward the chaise lounge. The truth was, she had only the barest scrap of a plan and no idea whether it would work or not. But when she saw the pain and shame and dull-eyed resignation on Lexa’s face the moment she realized what Nia had in store for her, Clarke knew she couldn't allow this to happen. 

Her doubts vanished when Lexa’s lips met hers.

They might have been putting on a show for Nia’s guests, but there was real hunger in the way Lexa’s mouth devoured her, in the way her hands gripped Clarke’s waist, in the hardness she could feel throbbing against her center. Clarke knew she must be embarrassingly wet by now, but as she felt the proof of Lexa’s ardor pressing against her, a fresh burst of slickness spilled from her to ruin her smallclothes. 

_ Fuck. It’ll be more difficult to keep from making this  _ too  _ real. _

Lexa seemed to have the same thought, if the eager way her teeth nipped at Clarke’s bottom lip were any indication. Clarke let her mouth fall open with a gasp, and Lexa took the invitation, sliding her tongue between Clarke’s lips. For a while, she just let herself sink into the feeling of Lexa exploring her, Lexa tasting her, in a kiss that felt like a claim… 

She recovered, pushing her own tongue into Lexa’s mouth and regaining control of the kiss. As delirious as she felt at the prospect of simply surrendering to Lexa, letting herself be taken, that would have to wait. Right now, Clarke needed to take the lead. 

For Lexa’s sake, Clarke seized control. She backed Lexa toward the chaise lounge, breaking their kiss only to push her gently onto the royal purple cushions. Lexa sat with a startled thump, green eyes wide with both lust and fear, as if she had drifted back into confused, uncertain territory.

Clarke steeled herself. Even though she was embarrassed herself, she at least had some experience at parties like this. She would need to be Lexa’s strength. She swung her leg over Lexa’s knees, straddling her lap and pushing her to lie down with a single hand in the middle of her chest.

Though her hips hovered a few inches above Lexa’s pelvis, not making contact with the swell at the front of Lexa’s pants, Clarke was all too aware of how close their bodies were. She could feel the heat of Lexa’s lean, muscular legs between her thighs, and she could feel the rapid pounding of Lexa’s heart beneath her palm as well beneath the strap of her decorative pauldron.

After one more glance into Lexa’s eyes, a glance Clarke hoped conveyed reassurance, she scanned the crowd. More had crowded around the platform, wandering over from other performers to take in the spectacle. They were muttering to each other, leering, and Clarke knew exactly what they must be saying.

Masters were not meant to fuck their slaves in public. It was a dirty, private thing, something to be whispered about behind cupped hands.

Clarke gritted her teeth. No matter what they might think, they were wrong. To be with Lexa—even only pretending to be with Lexa—did not make her ashamed. She glanced over at the throne, to where Nia and Ontari were watching her in expectation. Clarke returned their glare with one of defiance. She knew she might pay for it later, but she didn’t care.

_ Focus on Lexa, _ she reminded herself.  _ Just on Lexa. _

She looked back down at Lexa, offering her most genuine smile as she ran her fingertips up along the firm muscles of Lexa’s abdomen. Those same clenched beneath her, and she both saw and heard Lexa’s breathing pick up. Clarke first thought to unfasten Lexa’s pauldron, but then hesitated. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in the days prior, it was more than obvious now: Lexa did not want to be stripped.

Clarke’s mind raced. The crowd would expect  _ some _ nudity. They wouldn’t be able to pass this off as real otherwise. Instead, she reached for her own gown, unfastening the decorative metal clips on both narrow shoulder straps. They fell, letting the top of the loose white garment pool around her waist and revealing her breasts.

The reactions of the crowd seemed pleased, but Clarke wasn’t paying attention. Once more, she was drowning in Lexa’s eyes. For just a moment, Lexa removed her fingers from where she had been clenching the edge of the lounge, almost as if she wanted to reach out…

But then she stopped herself. Clarke took over, grasping both her hands and bringing them into place over her breasts. Lexa didn’t squeeze at first, but when Clarke encouraged her, she seemed to remember they were supposed to be performing. She cupped Clarke’s breasts, tentatively at first, then kneaded.

Although Lexa was obviously trying to avoid her nipples, that somehow made the ache between Clarke’s legs worse. She tried to shove it down, to control it, to focus on her performance, but some part of her knew that was a mistake. It would be better to lean in to this, to savor it, to make it look as real as possible. She dipped her head down for another taste of Lexa’s lips, kissing her long and deep.

“We need to make this look real,” Clarke murmured against Lexa’s mouth, trying to ignore the harsh pants of Lexa’s breath and the burn of her long, clever fingers on Clarke’s skin. She ground down against Lexa’s lap, barely just brushing her pelvis against the hardness she felt pressing at the gladiator’s trousers, but it was enough to make them both gasp.  _ Fuck,  _ she thought, trying to ignore the throbbing in her center.  _ This might be harder than I thought… oh god. Wrong word… _

Fighting back the fever threatening to overtake her brain, Clarke broke their kiss to whisper, “Trust me?” Staring into Lexa’s eyes, their forest-green nearly swallowed by the blackness of her arousal, she saw fear, need, desperation...and a spark of what might be just what she’d asked for. It wasn't much, but it was a start. 

Lexa nodded minutely. Clarke lifted her hands from where they’d been resting on Lexa’s strong shoulders, caressing the tense bands of muscle there, and brought them to her cheeks. She pressed one last hard, hopefully reassuring kiss to the other woman’s lips and then guided her head down to her breast. 

Lexa froze at first, as though unsure of what to do, or unwilling to do it. Desperately hoping it was the former, Clarke gave the back of her neck an encouraging squeeze, and then pressed their pelvises together once more. 

Lexa gasped, allowing Clarke’s nipple to slip into her mouth. Clarke was nearly overtaken by the sensation of wet heat enveloping her, but somehow she maintained enough brainpower to meet Lexa’s questioning gaze with a firm nod:  _ Yes, I really want you to do this. Sell it. Make it look real. _

Lexa’s tongue hesitantly circled the stiff bud in her mouth, and a jolt ran through Clarke’s entire body. Somehow, Lexa’s hesitant attentions were affecting her more strongly than any of the more-practiced lovers she’d taken. Even though it was just a show, put on to appease Nia’s slavering guests and the lecherous eyes of the Empress herself, Clarke found her arousal building in the pit of her stomach with embarrassing speed.  _ If this is what she does to me when we’re just pantomiming, I can't even imagine what it’ll feel like for real... _

After a long moment of torturously hesitant experimentation, Lexa began to explore her more firmly. She licked and nibbled and sucked, lips forming a seal around Clarke’s straining peak, and Clarke’s eyes rolled back in her head. She tossed her head back, and the loud moan that escaped her lips was decidedly not faked. 

From what Clarke could tell, though, the crowd loved it. Their excited whispers and murmurs became hoots and jeers, from which she could discern several shouts of  _ “More!”  _ The reminder of their audience served to recall her to what they were really doing: a desperate performance in the interest of their survival. Fighting to regain enough breath to speak, Clarke took hold of Lexa’s chin and attempted to tug her head up again.

To her astonishment, Lexa actually  _ growled.  _ Her eyes were dark and dangerous when they met Clarke’s, and the combination of the sound and Lexa’s look— _ like she can't believe I would be so impudent as to interrupt her, oh god— _ sent a fresh wave of slickness spilling out of her to coat her already ruined smallclothes. There was no way she could argue with that look - she was already having enough trouble not just bending over for it and letting Lexa take what she wanted. But that wasn’t the scene they were enacting here. Clarke was supposed to be the domina, supposed to have some element of control, even though that was the last thing she wanted right now.

Gritting her teeth, she took hold of the chain around Lexa’s neck and used it to tug the gladiator away from her breast. Fear and regret flared Lexa’s eyes, choking off the lust, but Clarke stroked her braids in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. “I’m going to pretend to undo your laces,” she murmured to Lexa, under cover of the crowd’s clamor. “And then you’re going to pretend to…” Despite how many lovers she’d taken, for some reason the words made her flush anew. She had to swallow hard before she could say them. “...enter me.” 

The look in Lexa’s eyes stunned the breath right out of her, almost as though she’d been gut-punched. For a moment, she considered saying  _ Fuck it, let’s just do it for real, right here and now. _ The lower half of her colorful robe would conceal any intimate parts of their bodies from sight, which was exactly what she’d intended with this position. No one would be any the wiser that they were actually taking the pleasure they were affecting from each other.

The heat and hunger in Lexa’s gaze, the flush creeping across her chest, and the tight grip of her hands on Clarke’s hips told her that the Commander wouldn't have any objections...now, anyway. But Clarke couldn't forget the vulnerable, despairing look Lexa had given her when she’d first realized Nia’s intent, and that was what decided her firmly against it. She wanted Lexa, and Lexa wanted her, but she didn't want their first time together to be while obeying Nia’s sick whims.

Pushing aside her feelings of confusion, Clarke removed her smallclothes from beneath her robe, letting them slip down one leg to land on the floor. The crowd seemed to appreciate the gesture. Laughter followed, offering Clarke some distraction as she pretended to unfasten Lexa’s laces. Instead, her fingers merely brushed the bulge at the front of Lexa’s pantaloons without fishing inside. Lexa gave a sharp jerk beneath her, eyes widening—obviously it was a real reaction, but it played to Clarke’s advantage. Lexa’s shuddering gasp was almost enough to convince even her that their bodies were about to join.

Responding in turn, Clarke started rocking her hips, letting out a low moan she hoped was loud enough to carry over to the throne. Slowly, she sank down, bringing Lexa’s head back to her breast as their pelvises met.

Even through Lexa’s pants, Clarke could feel her outline all too clearly. To her embarrassment, it coaxed another pulse of wetness from within her, and she found herself wishing she had kept her smallclothes on. Without a second barrier in the way, she could feel far too much.

***

Lexa groaned around Clarke’s nipple, fighting the urge to buck her hips upward. She could feel wet heat bleeding through her pants, soaking along her shaft, and each fresh coat of it made her twitch painfully. She had been relieved when Clarke had whispered her plan—their situation was still terrifying and humiliating, but at least she had the satisfaction of preserving some of her dignity and fooling Nia as well.

But this hardly felt like faking. The wetness ruining her pants was all too real, and so were Clarke’s moans and the constant shifting of her hips. Lexa used the very edges of her teeth against the peak of Clarke’s breast, trying to find a silent way to ask her to ease up, but it was useless. Clarke seemed to think she was offering encouragement, because she ground down harder.

Lexa throbbed. Through the thin, clinging material, she could feel Clarke’s outline, her swollen lips and the stiff point of her clit. She could sense where Clarke’s entrance was, and her mind spun with the thought that if she just undid her pants, she could slide herself inside and find out how soft Clarke’s inner walls were.

_ No, _ she reminded herself, breaking away from Clarke’s breast with a gasp. It came out more like a whine and her face burned—not because of the audience, which was fading more and more from her awareness each second, but because of Clarke. Clarke was staring down at her with those deep blue eyes, heavy breaths skating over her pink lips. The need on her face looked so real…

Clarke tugged her hair, guiding her over to the opposite breast. Lexa suckled obediently, but her hands fluttered, ghosting near Clarke’s bare sides without actually finding purchase. She didn’t know what she was allowed to touch. She didn’t know what she  _ should _ touch. And all the time, Clarke was rubbing against her, making her ache with each pass.

Finally, she took a chance and grasped Clarke’s hips. She needed to hold on to something. Without an anchor, she feared she might actually come in her pants despite Clarke’s attempts to save her from such embarrassment. Even though it had been years since she had felt this way—months, even, since she had taken herself in hand—the pressure building within her was both recognizable and terrifying. As Clarke rocked over her, the fullness continued to swell, until it was all Lexa could think of.

She forgot Nia. She forgot the guests. She forgot that Clarke was supposed to be her domina and she was supposed to be a slave. She used her hold on Clarke’s hips to try and bring their bodies even closer, pushing herself as close to Clarke’s heat as she could get through her thin, soaked trousers. It was pure torture to continue thrusting up against the warm, wet center she could feel so closely, only to be denied by the drenched flimsy fabric, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

The curve of her cock bumped against a hard, straining point, and Clarke let out a startled cry. Lexa looked up, trying to gauge whether Clarke was pretending or not. The dizzy, surprised look on her domina’s face, her eyes wide and mouth curved into a perfect O of shock, told her that the sentiment was real. 

Lexa could suddenly and viscerally imagine Clarke making that face as her thrusts sped up to batter against the special spot on her front wall that would push her over the edge. Her own groan was muffled by the nipple between her lips, but she was decided.  _ I need to be in her—truly in her. And the only way I can do that is if we put on a show.  _

Determined, Lexa thrust up against the stiff point of Clarke’s clit, while coaxing the Skayon’s hips into a rhythmic grind that would further increase the contact. Clarke moaned again, looking frantic, hands clenching rhythmically in Lexa’s hair. She redoubled her efforts on her domina’s breast, lashing the nipple mercilessly with her tongue. As sweet as sweat and desperation tasted on Clarke’s skin, Lexa couldn't help wishing it was her clit that she was tormenting with her mouth.

The end came soon, surprising both of them. Above her, Clarke stiffened, muscles locking tight and mouth opening in a soundless scream. Her hands clawed at Lexa’s scalp, dragging her up from the breast she was suckling, and pulled her into a fierce, hungry kiss that swallowed her passionate cry. Lexa only had time to admire Clarke’s acting skills before a flood of wetness, more than ever before, rushed out to soak her trousers. 

_ Oh,  _ Keryon.  _ She wasn’t faking. _

The world had seemed to fade around them as they performed their pantomime of lovemaking, but as Clarke slowly shuddered down from her high, it began to return. Cheers and hoots from the crowd filtered into Lexa’s ears, eclipsing the sound of Clarke’s harsh breathing, and she felt the prickle of eyes on her once more.

The voices of Nia’s guests merged into something like a chant, and after a moment Lexa realized what they were saying: 

“Again! Again! Again!” 

Sick despair roiled in her stomach. She wanted to make Clarke come over and over, until both of their bodies gave out, but not here. Not like this. It had already been too much, too close, and if they were forced to pretend to couple again, it was unlikely that the crowd would accept more of the same. They would want to see something fresher and even more lewd, and there was a limit to how much longer they could hide beneath Clarke’s dress.

But Clarke had come back to herself by now, and seen Lexa’s agitation. “Don't worry,” she whispered, disguising her words with a kiss. “We’re getting out of here. Pretend that your shoulder is paining you.” 

As Lexa took stock of herself, she realized that wouldn't be too hard to do. She had managed to completely ignore it in the throes of (mostly) fabricated passion, but her bruised and battered muscles were screaming for a reprieve, her ribs were aching, and she felt like someone was twisting a dull knife in her shoulder. Letting out a groan she’d subconsciously repressed, Lexa slumped down on the chaise lounge with a grimace. 

“Don’t tell me your stallion is tired already,” came Nia’s taunting voice from the throne. Clarke stood, taking care to appear as though she was letting Lexa’s cock slide out of her before going through the motions of tucking it back into her pants. She gave it a little teasing pat that sent a jolt through Lexa’s entire body, and slipped the straps of her dress back over her shoulders before turning to address Nia.

“Well, she  _ did _ fight a pauna just this afternoon, Your Majesty,” Clarke said, with just the right amount of cheek. “I must beg your indulgence for tonight, and ask that she be allowed to take her rest. I would not want an unhealed injury to prevent her from providing us with more...entertainment like tonight’s.” 

Nia appeared to consider, and Lexa’s fists clenched so hard that her nails dug painfully into her palms. But at last the Empress gave an airy wave of her hand, looking like she was already bored. “Go. Tend to your gladiator’s wounds, and be certain that she is able to perform when I call on her again.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so sorry it's been forever, but here be smut! The first of many ;P As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

Lexa’s head remained in a confused crimson fog as Clarke led her away. Without her domina’s help, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to rise from the chaise lounge, let alone walk steadily enough to leave the platform. The ache between her legs had not receded in the slightest, and though Clarke remained in front of her, doing her best to conceal Lexa from the crowd’s gawking stares, Lexa was hyperaware of the way the damp fabric of her pants shifted against her. She was still aching. She could still feel the ghost of Clarke’s heat, the evidence of Clarke’s release, rubbing against her.

She should have been angry, embarrassed, and humiliated, but she could barely bring herself to glance at Nia’s smug face before they left. Not only had Clarke preserved what little remained of her dignity, Clarke had done so by sacrificing her own. Not only had she pretended to couple with a slave, something that was  _ never _ done in public, but Lexa knew with certainty that the Skaikru Ambassador’s release had not been faked.

Clarke had come for her.  _ Because _ of her.

Though Clarke was leading her by the thin golden chain around her neck, Lexa felt the need for more contact. She reached out her hand, and Clarke grasped it tightly, sensing her desire for support. The two of them slipped from the room together, staggering in their haste.

Lexa wasn’t quite sure where Clarke was leading her, but it didn’t matter. After a few turns in the palace hallways, they had left most of Nia’s guests and even the servants behind. Clarke pulled her through a shadowy doorway into a small room—possibly for storage? Lexa didn’t get a chance to observe her surroundings before Clarke pressed her back into one of the walls, hot mouth devouring hers.

“Say no,” Clarke muttered between short, hard kisses, her breath spilling over Lexa’s face, “and I’ll stop. I would never force this on you. But Lexa…”

Lexa’s lips trembled. Clarke had said her first name, her real name. She was not the captive Commander, the Stallion of Tondisi, or a slave in Clarke’s eyes.

“…I  _ need _ you.”

Lexa didn’t have the wherewithal to answer verbally, but she threaded her fingers through Clarke’s hair, dragging her in for a bruising clash of lips. She said yes with her mouth, pouring everything she had into the kiss. She wanted Clarke to know that these feelings were real despite the performance they had been forced to put on. She was confused, and embarrassed, and more than a little afraid, but Clarke was warm and reassuring, and Lexa wanted nothing more than to stay as close as possible to her.

Clarke kissed her back with matching hunger. She slid her hands down along Lexa’s sides, and Lexa hissed as Clarke unfastened the front of her ruined pants.

A loud groan tore from Lexa’s lips, vibrating between their mouths as Clarke drew her through the soaked fabric. She trembled, muscles tensing, not from the cool air but from the warmth of Clarke’s hand. It had been years since anyone had touched her this way, but Clarke’s soft blue eyes held only desire and reassurance.

“Please,” Clarke whispered, a ragged plea that brushed Lexa’s mouth. “You’re so close. Let me help you.”

All of Lexa’s words flew out of her brain. With lust darkening Clarke’s eyes and the rapid heave of her breaths, she couldn't even imagine what Clarke was waiting for. But she simply held Lexa in her hand, throbbing and aching and oh Spirit,  _ dripping.  _ That loose grip seemed an even greater torture than any Nia could have devised.

Clarke was looking up at her through kohl-darkened lashes, her eyes so large and stunningly blue, and at last Lexa summoned the will to nod. The sudden flare of excited desire in Clarke’s gaze was enough to make Lexa suck in a breath, but when Clarke’s hand began to move, it flowed out of her in a rush, like she’d been punched.

At first, Clarke merely seemed satisfied with holding her. Lexa began to relax even as the fire in her belly burned hotter. Even though they had a bond of trust between them now, and even though her entire world had dropped between her legs, part of her remained wary. She had taken only one lover, and since her anatomy was unusual—and the subject of Nia’s ridicule—she often put it from her mind. But in this moment, she couldn’t. She waited, tension rising, to see what Clarke would do.

When she at last found the courage to meet Clarke’s eyes, she was relieved to find only desire. Clarke’s fingers moved downward, tracing the length of her and drawing back the soft folds of skin that protected her shaft. Lexa flinched as Clarke delved lower between her legs, to where she had two soft spheres and a shallow opening between them.

“So… this is you,” Clarke whispered right next to the lobe of her ear, rolling her in hand. “Is this all right?”

A pulse of ache shot straight through Lexa’s core. “...Yes.”

“And this?”

Clarke released her, trailing a single finger through her narrow slit.

Lexa choked on a gasp. Instead of responding with words, she could only whimper. Clarke stroked a few times, then pressed forward with the very tip of one finger. She could only bury about half of it, but that seemed to satisfy her. Lexa, however, was far from satisfied. Her hand shot down, and she clasped Clarke’s wrist, urging her to stop.

“Yes, but… later,” she promised when she saw the look of disappointment on Clarke’s face. She needed release, which she hoped the Sky girl understood, and this wasn’t a quick way to seek it. Luckily, Clarke seemed to get over her disappointment quickly. She withdrew gently from the small opening and returned her hand to Lexa’s shaft, which had grown in size considerably.

Lexa fell back against the wall as Clarke stroked her all the way from base to tip, rubbing her thumb over the divot at the head before moving back down. She firmly believed that if Clarke continued at this torturous pace, she was going to die before ever reaching orgasm, but Clarke seemed to understand. She only gave Lexa a couple more strokes at that excruciating tempo before speeding up her movements. Soon Lexa was clutching the wall for dear life, afraid her knees would to give out, unable to do anything to stop the flood of pants and groans spilling out of her mouth. 

But Clarke seemed to drink in each one, her eyes growing just a little brighter every time the proof of Lexa’s pleasure flowed from between her lips or from her shaft. She appeared to take delight in learning Lexa’s body, in discovering what made her shiver with pleasure or thrust involuntarily into her fist. Every so often she coaxed a reaction out of Lexa that seemed to especially entrance her, and she would make a pleased little sound even as Lexa gasped and shuddered.

Lexa could feel her peak approaching her with the swiftness of a charging pauna, and she fought to cling to her sanity as she throbbed and pulsed in Clarke’s grip. Clarke seemed to sense what was coming and redoubled her efforts, speeding the movement of her fist and running her thumb along the sensitive underside of Lexa’s head with every upstroke. Soon it was a struggle not to cry out and alert Nia’s entire palace to her imminent pleasure. 

And then Clarke stepped in even closer, her eyes so dark as to nearly be black, threatening to swallow Lexa whole. “Let go, Lexa,” she whispered, so near that Lexa could feel Clarke’s lips ghosting across her own when they moved. “Please...come for me.”

Lexa could hold on no longer. Her shaft gave a final throb as she spilled her release in harsh spurts across Clarke’s wrist. Her limbs locked tight and her head tried to tip back against the wall, but Clarke seized the back of her neck in a fierce grip and swallowed her sharp cry with a kiss.

Clarke continued to squeeze and stroke her, urging her to empty everything she had, and Lexa found herself unable to do anything but what Clarke wanted. It was a blissful sort of surrender, though, unlike that which was demanded or taken by force. She panted heavily with each twitch that raced along her length, sucking desperately on Clarke’s tongue as she spent in her mistress’s hand.

As Lexa floated down from her high, feeling loose-limbed and fuzzy-headed, she felt Clarke take more of her weight where she slumped against the wall. They fell into a kind of impromptu embrace, Lexa’s head leaning on Clarke’s shoulder and Clarke’s unoccupied arm wrapped around her waist. It felt warm and comforting, and she almost didn’t want to leave. 

But the brush of Clarke’s fingers against her softening shaft as she tucked Lexa back into her trousers reminded her abruptly of what awaited her when they returned to Clarke’s rooms. Lexa’s need rushed back with doubled intensity.  _ If this is how good her hand feels, I can’t even imagine how incredible her mouth will be...or her cunt,  _ Lexa thought, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s sweaty neck. 

_ All I know is that I want to find out.  _

***

The journey to Clarke’s rooms in the embassy was pure torture. Though they didn’t have far to go, every step reminded Clarke of the unfulfilled ache between her legs. Remembering the way Lexa had throbbed in her hand and spilled across her fingers made Clarke’s inner walls clench with jealousy, and if her clothes hadn’t been ruined before, they surely were by the time they arrived at her chambers.

A pair of guards in the hallway offered the two of them knowing glances, but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care. She didn’t let go of Lexa’s elbow, which she was clasping in desperation, nor did she spare another thought for the show she had put on in front of Nia and her guests. All she wanted, all she  _ needed _ , was Lexa’s touch—and soon, before the flames of her own desire consumed her.

They crashed together again as soon as they stumbled through the door and into relative privacy. Lexa’s lips burned against hers, devouring every inch of her mouth, and Clarke kissed her back with all the passion she could muster. She attempted to remove Lexa’s ruined pants, but was stalled as Lexa made quick work of her thin robes first, tearing in the places she couldn’t unfasten.

Clarke groaned, nipping at Lexa’s lower lip. She didn’t care what happened to her clothes. She needed to be filled, taken, and  _ nothing _ else mattered. As the two of them stripped, she slid her palms over every inch of Lexa’s body that she could reach. Lexa was lean and firm, full of wiry strength, but also covered in a coat of womanly softness that gave Clarke enough of a handful to grip at her hips.

“Lexa,” she groaned, gazing into the Commander’s blazing green eyes. Even though every fiber of her being vibrated with want for this woman, she needed to be certain. She unhooked the ornamental golden chain from around Lexa’s neck, clasping it in her hand. “If you ask, I’ll stop. I’m not your domina now.”

Lexa froze, and for a moment, Clarke feared she would say no. A lance of ice pierced her heart and she braced herself for disappointment. Instead, Lexa cupped her cheek, gazing at her with an expression that could only be described as wonder. “I don’t want to stop, Clarke.”

That was all Clarke needed to hear. She finished removing her robes, then looped the golden chain around her own neck. As thin and light as it was, the metal burned around the base of her throat. “You trusted me back there,” she said, offering the other end of the chain to Lexa, hoping she would understand. “I trust you, too.”

Lexa took the gift for what it was. She tugged lightly on the chain, just enough to pull Clarke forward into another passionate kiss.

Suddenly, Clarke found herself being walked backwards through the room, unaware of where they were heading. She let Lexa guide her, gasping as the backs of her knees hit the edge of another lounge chair. It wasn’t quite as nice as the one in Nia’s palace, but it would hold their body weight, and that was really the only requirement.

Clarke broke away from Lexa’s kiss, ignoring her low whimpers of protest. She turned around, bending forward over the chair with her legs spread wide. “Please,” she whispered, gazing back at Lexa over her shoulder.

Lexa let out a cross between a growl and a groan, and then she was upon Clarke, draping her body along Clarke’s back. Lexa’s skin burned wherever it touched hers, but Clarke was more focused on what she could feel pressing against her inner thigh. A pulse of wetness slid out of her at the thought that she would soon get to feel what she had spent far more time than she should have imagining: Lexa inside her, filling her up, taking her, claiming her.

Clarke moaned, raising her hips to give Lexa a better angle. She felt the Commander’s hands grasp her waist, trembling at first but becoming sure in her need. Lexa peppered her neck and upper back with kisses and nips, making Clarke shiver, but she could barely focus on anything other than having Lexa in her. A red haze had risen in her mind, obscuring everything else. She couldn't imagine why Lexa hadn't taken her yet, but she couldn't find the words to ask. 

She pushed her hips back against Lexa’s again in search of the hardness she could feel just out of reach, and felt her gladiator’s breath hiss hotly across the back of her neck. “Clarke, if you keep this up, I don’t know if I can be gentle.” 

The fog in Clarke’s mind cleared just long enough for her to fix Lexa with a burning glare and rasp, “Then don’t be.” 

Lexa snarled in her ear, and then she was pressing into Clarke, hard and hot and thick. It had been a long time since Clarke was stretched this way, but it was everything she wanted, everything she needed. The stretch as Lexa’s head pushed into her stole Clarke’s breath, but when it popped inside, stars burst behind her eyes. 

True to her word, Lexa wasn't gentle as she spread Clarke open, inch by aching inch, but Clarke welcomed every part of it, every part of her. It was  _ Lexa  _ filling her up, soothing the emptiness inside of her with heat and hardness and pressure, and Clarke found herself trembling, already embarrassingly close to coming before Lexa had even begun to thrust. She didn't want to come yet—she wanted to draw this out, make it last—but the moment their hips met, she shivered into an orgasm, cries of release spilling from her lips and wetness pouring out around Lexa’s shaft.

Lexa stilled, her strong fingers digging into Clarke’s waist hard enough to leave marks, but somehow the thought only made Clarke come harder. The idea of being marked as Lexa’s, branded by her somehow, was erotic in a way she hadn't even realized it could be. But just as she could feel the cool links of chain burning into the soft skin around her throat, these signs of ownership, of possession, made her keen and shiver with renewed need.

Clarke’s orgasm was only a short one, a reaction to finally having Lexa where she needed her after so long spent yearning, and as it faded to light, fluttery aftershocks, she felt hot shame creep up the back of her neck.  _ Fuck. I just  _ came,  _ didn’t I? All she did was stick her cock in me… Gods, what she must think of me… _

Clarke’s thoughts were cut off by the sensation of the chain tightening around her throat, forcing her head up. 

“So, you couldn't even wait for your domina before seeking your release.” 

Lexa’s tone was cold, imperious, commanding _ — _ and the reverse of their titles made Clarke  _ burn. _

“I will be lenient with you this time, Clarke. But if you come again without my permission, you  _ will  _ be punished. Do you understand?” 

The chain tightened again, just barely—not enough to cut off her breath, but enough to hint at the possibility. Clarke felt like she might pass out from pleasure alone. Then she noticed Lexa looking at her with surprisingly soft eyes, a hopeful question in their green depths, and she answered quickly: “Yes, Era.”

“Good girl,” Lexa said, and then gave a lazy pump of her hips that made Clarke see stars. “Let’s begin.”

For Clarke, the next minute was a hazy mix of torture and utter relief. Lexa began moving within her, movement she desperately craved, but her thrusts were slow and deliberate. Her warm breaths were ragged and her grip was steel, and each stroke hit a spot inside of Clarke that made her see flashing white stars brighter than all the gods’ constellations. But they were not the savage, tearing thrusts Clarke had expected… and secretly hoped for.

She settled for clenching her teeth, occasionally letting out a hiss of air when the pleasure-pain became too much. She had given Lexa complete control, partially to erase every last reminder of their original roles as domina and slave, and now she was paying the price. Soon her hissing turned to gasps, then her gasps to whines, and then to sharp yelps as Lexa’s hips slapped against her rear.

This woman. This woman was driving her absolutely insane. This woman made her body crawl with flames, made her tremble and claw at the chaise lounge in ways no other lover, man or woman, friend or political rival, had ever managed. Their bodies fit like something from Plato’s writings, and Clarke suddenly understood—after this, after having Lexa, after letting Lexa have her, nothing would ever be the same again.

***

It took every ounce of willpower Lexa had to fight against the urge to rut her hips like a mindless beast. Clarke was softer, silkier, and  _ tighter _ than she had even imagined, and the heat—oh Spirit, the heat drew more pounding fullness between her legs with each thrust and every beat of her heart. Clarke would be her undoing, but Lexa couldn’t resist. All her training was for nothing and every one of her previous lessons in restraint had deserted her. She had become weak once more, all for the beautiful woman beneath her.

There was no use resisting. Clarke’s muscles clung to her, almost pleading for her release, and it was all Lexa could do to keep a moderate pace. She sped up for a few thrusts, feeling Clarke shiver and arch beneath her, before seizing control of the reins once more and slowing back to her original tempo. She repeated that method for a while, losing control for a few precious seconds before reeling herself back in, but she knew she couldn’t sustain such an uneven rhythm. She needed to go faster. Deeper.

Swept away on a wave of selfishness, she tugged on the thin golden chain, forcing Clarke to lift her head. Clarke’s hair spilled around her shoulders, glittering in the candlelight. Lexa swept it aside, pressing a wet kiss to the nape of Clarke’s neck.

Clarke shuddered, warm walls clenching tighter, and Lexa’s hips jerked out of rhythm. She kissed Clarke’s neck again, using her teeth this time, and the grip around her shaft squeezed tighter still. She took Clarke’s shoulder between her teeth, biting down without mercy, and Clarke let out a wail that was almost too much for Lexa to bear. She was able to hold back her peak, but she could no longer restrain herself. She plunged forward at a faster, rougher pace, no longer able to spin the moments out and savor them. She needed to come, and she needed it now.

The sight of her release spilling across Clarke’s hand had been incredible, and remembering it made Lexa groan—but the thought of pumping deep into Clarke’s center made her gasp and shiver more than ever, her hips stuttering unevenly. She began to throb with impending orgasm, and Lexa prepared to let it overtake her, to let it sweep her away on its tide of pleasure—but then she realized she had a decision to make. 

Woman though she was, she had some of the parts required to make another woman pregnant. She had never gotten Costia with child, partially because they had been careful. Even before the war, her position as Commander would not have left her much time for raising children. And yet, the possibility remained that her seed might take root, if planted in fertile soil.

But now the war was over, and she was no longer Commander of her people; she was no one. She would probably die soon, at Nia’s cruel whim, for her people’s entertainment. The thought of leaving behind a legacy, some part of herself that would live on in the world even after she had passed on, flared up brightly in her mind. But any child of hers would also be Clarke’s, she realized. She couldn’t take that risk without alerting her Sky girl first. 

_ And when did I start thinking of Clarke as  _ my  _ Sky girl…? _

Lexa had no more time to ponder. Her shaft pounded with unreleased pressure, and Clarke was clenching harder around her with every thrust. She knew that she wouldn't be able to stave off her own release in the grip of Clarke’s, so she bent low over her domina’s back to nip at her ear.

“I’m going to come, Skayon,” she growled, feeling herself throb at the words. “I don’t know how potent my seed is, but if I fill you there’s a chance that it could catch. Unless you want to bear the foal of the Stallion of Tondisi, tell me to pull out and I will.” 

Clarke moaned long and loud, shivering around her, inner walls massaging Lexa’s shaft, and she had to grit her teeth in order to keep from spilling then and there. She bit down hard on the nape of Clarke’s neck in warning. 

_ “Clarke…”  _

Clarke arched beneath her, muscles tensed and straining with her impending release. “I want it, Lexa,” she wailed, writhing in Lexa’s grip. “Please,  _ fill me!”  _

Lexa had no choice but to obey Clarke’s plea. The pressure pounding along her length burst free, and she let out a harsh cry as she spilled over. Clarke came almost instantly, rippling around Lexa and milking more out of her than she thought she could give. The tide of their shared release swept over them both, their voices rising in a harmonious chorus of pleasure.

Lexa felt as though it might never end, as though her spurts might never falter. She had spilled enough to feel some of it sliding out around her thighs along with Clarke’s gushing wetness as she thrust weakly against Clarke’s rear. She had filled her Sky girl well, she thought, experiencing a heady mix of embarrassment, arousal, and pride. But if the wild fluttering of Clarke’s channel was any indication, Clarke felt similarly. 

As their shared pleasure faded into a pleasant afterglow, Lexa let herself collapse against Clarke’s back with a sigh. The terror and exhilaration of the day’s events had been subsumed by the urgency of their need for each other, but now it was all rushing back, reminding Lexa that today she had fought a pauna, fooled Nia into thinking she had stolen her dignity, and been given the gift of Clarke’s submission. She would need to address the potential consequences of that gift, but...not yet. Resting her cheek on Clarke’s sweat-soaked back, she allowed herself to catch her breath and listen to Clarke’s heartbeat, feeling for the first time since she had been sentenced to death like she was truly alive.

***

Much later, after she had coaxed Lexa over to the bed for a few hours of sleep and pulled the lightest of the sheets over her sweating body, Clarke remained awake. She gazed at the gladiator’s face as she slept, one hand resting on Lexa’s arm and stroking its smooth surface with her thumb.

It had been a long day. She couldn’t blame Lexa for lapsing into unconsciousness, injured and exhausted as she was. And yet, Clarke couldn’t find such rest herself. She was alive, buzzing, exhilarated. The consummation of their unspoken attraction felt like the sealing of a covenant: a promise that they would work even harder to overthrow Nia than before. And tomorrow, that plan would begin in earnest.

She would approach all the contacts she could trust and ask for their loyalty—or at least their indifference. She would instruct Lexa to begin making inroads among the slaves and the common people as her popularity grew. She would put Octavia and Raven and Bellamy to use gathering yet more allies right under Nia’s nose…

A soft sigh distracted Clarke from her thoughts. Beside her, Lexa had started snoring gently. The former Commander looked more at peace than Clarke had ever seen her before, and she felt a curious ball of warmth expanding in her chest as she gazed upon Lexa’s sleeping face.

There would be no more pretenses in private. They weren’t domina and slave anymore at all, if they had ever truly been.

Clarke moved her hand from Lexa’s arm to her cheek, brushing aside a strand of her hair. Perhaps she would ask Lexa if she could braid it one of these days, at a time when they weren’t risking their lives…

She shuddered as she remembered the moment that had passed between them earlier, when Lexa had asked for permission before releasing inside her. It hardly mattered—her position and her preferences made a regular dose of silphium not just advisable, but necessary—and yet Lexa’s consideration had touched her. It made her wonder if, perhaps, after this was all over, the gladiator might not want to depart from her so swiftly.

Part of her hoped so. If their rebellion was successful, Lexa in every way deserved a quiet, peaceful life of rest. And yet Clarke could not help hoping she would choose to remain in the capital, and at the very least advise her on the formation of a new government.

Clarke smiled softly, brushing Lexa’s chin with her thumb. “The world does not deserve you, Lexa,” she whispered with unrestrained affection. “But I’m grateful you’re in it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know you filthy sinners loved the smut from last time, so here, have some more! The plot won't intrude (literally) until the very end. As always, let us know what you think in the comments and on tumblr @n1ghtwr1ter and @raedmagdon!

Lexa woke slowly the next morning. Every muscle in her body ached and her bones felt a century old. The surface beneath her was soft, though, and something cool and smooth slid against her skin. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so comfortable, and she would have traded her soul to remain asleep for just a moment longer.

As she shifted, Lexa realized she wasn’t on the ground at all. She was lying on a plush mattress, and the silkiness she could feel wrapped around her limbs belonged to _actual_ silk sheets. As the morning’s golden light spilled into her eyes through the open window of the balcony, everything that had happened the previous night came rushing back. Nia’s cruel smile, the humiliating ‘performance’, Clarke’s reassuring hands, the heat and taste of Clarke’s lips… the heat of other places Lexa blushed to remember.

Oh, Spirit. She had thought it was merely a dream.

She waited for regret to come, but despite everything, Lexa’s chest felt strangely light. Even when her mind flashed to Costia, she did not feel guilt or grief. Her old love was still there, preserved in her memories. Nothing about that was different. Her relationship with Clarke, however, had completely changed course in a single night.

There would, Lexa knew, be no more holding back, no more denying her growing attachment. After what Clarke had done for her, her trust in Clarke was sealed. After what she and Clarke had shared, so were her feelings. They would not make things any easier. If anything, they would make her plans more difficult. Still, they existed, and Lexa refused to pretend otherwise.

She smiled. At least Titus wasn’t here to lecture her about weakness.

But where was Clarke? Lexa found herself vaguely disappointed as she glanced around the room. There was no sign of her lover, although Clarke’s side of the bed still held warmth. She had been there recently.

Mildly worried, Lexa decided to wait. She was certain Clarke would return, and she couldn’t very well walk around the villa unattended. Even though Clarke obviously did not consider her property, she was still a slave. Slaves went where their masters instructed and did what their masters told them to do.

A curious warmth spread in Lexa’s chest, and it took her a moment to recognize it as amusement. It had been so long since she’d found anything funny that the feeling seemed unusual at first. Gradually, though, she began to smirk. Would Nia be infuriated to find out that only the night before, she had been the one holding Clarke at the end of a chain? It was exactly the sort of thing that would crawl under the Empress’s skin.

A knock on the door drew Lexa from her thoughts. She remained in bed, waiting, her stomach fluttering at the possibility that it might be Clarke returning. Perhaps, Lexa thought, she could convince her new lover to join her for a few stolen minutes before she was forced to return to Ontari’s ludus.

Although she pulled the silk sheets protectively around her body just in case, Lexa was relieved to see that it was indeed Clarke who entered the room. As soon as she saw her lover’s face, looking warm and golden without the pale powder of her makeup, Lexa let them fall again. Clarke’s smile brought the sun into the room and made Lexa forget all about shielding herself from view.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be awake yet,” Clarke murmured, approaching the bed with a sway in her hips.

Heat blossomed in Lexa’s core. “Oh?”

“You fought a pauna yesterday and lived. I’m surprised you didn’t want to sleep for a year.” Clarke’s eyes did not hold much worry. They traveled from Lexa’s face to her shoulders, lingering without shame on her breasts.

“I feel rested,” Lexa said. Short sentences were all she could manage under the circumstances. Clarke had a way of stealing her words.

Clarke ran her tongue over her lower lip, drawing it between her teeth. Her gaze traveled lower still, to the portion of Lexa’s body still covered by the sheets. “Perhaps I had hoped to wake you myself.”

Something boiled in Lexa’s gut—a mingling of lust and apprehension, so tightly entwined she couldn't tease them apart from one another. Despite what she and Clarke had done last night—despite the fact that she now knew, with a searing certainty, what it felt like to be inside of Clarke, and also that she wanted nothing more than to feel that hot, slick sweetness wrapped around her again—there was still a part of Lexa that feared this perfect moment would shatter, like everything else in her life. It seemed beyond all imagining that a gorgeous, incredible, brilliant woman such as Clarke would be truly interested in her…

But the look in Clarke’s eyes left no room for doubt. As Lexa hesitated, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Clarke’s gaze softened from the heady desire it had been filled with when she entered the room to something approaching concern. “Is something wrong, Lexa?” she asked, and Lexa knew that she would do anything to hear Clarke’s lips wrapped around the syllables of her name, over and over again, in the throes of passion. “Did I do something wrong last night, or…?”

The slight tremble in Clarke’s voice melted away the last of Lexa’s concerns. “No,” she said swiftly, throwing off the sheet and hastening over to Clarke, pulling her close and rubbing her arms in an attempt to soothe her worries. “You did nothing wrong, and a great many things right. Except…” She sucked in a breath, hoping that she wasn't about to make a terrible mistake.

“Except…?” Clarke murmured, gazing at her through long blonde lashes. The desire was back in her deep blue eyes and husky voice, and Lexa had to swallow several times before she could continue. She was suddenly very aware of being pressed up against a warm body with curves in all the right places, scarcely hidden by the gauzy material of the dress draped over them. And yet even the whisper-thin silk was too much. Lexa ached for there to be nothing between them, nothing between Clarke’s tawny skin and her own, nothing between Clarke’s slick, perfect heat and the hardness she could feel growing between her legs…

“Except you left without serving your domina this morning,” Lexa forced out, desire roughening her voice. She trembled with need and anxiety. Would Clarke welcome the return of the dynamic they’d established last night, or had it been a singular event? But Clarke’s soft gasp reassured her that her instincts had served her well.

“I’m sorry,” she said, low and breathy. “I went to refill the water pitcher so you wouldn’t be thirsty. I meant to be back before you awakened…”

“But you weren't,” Lexa said, gripping Clarke’s upper arms a little more firmly. Reassured by Clarke’s obvious arousal, she was slipping more easily into this role, feeling it come more naturally to her. She had never before brought the commanding presence of Heda into her bedroom, but there was a first time for everything. And all of Heda’s subjects lived to serve.

“I had no idea how long you would be,” she continued, attempting to sound like she was chastising Clarke and not trembling from head to toe with want. “What if I’d had to see to my needs myself?” To make her point clear, she thrust her hips against Clarke’s, allowing herself to press firmly between Clarke’s thighs.

That elicited another, louder gasp, and Lexa felt herself throb. She wouldn’t be able to keep up this charade much longer. She needed to be in Clarke very soon.

“My apologies, Era,” the Skayon said, lowering her gaze in what was meant to be a show of deference but Lexa suspected was mainly to sneak a glimpse between her legs. “Please allow me to make it up to you by serving you...with my mouth?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Lexa’s again, and the Commander choked back a groan. It took several seconds to master herself long enough to nod. The prospect of Clarke’s gorgeous mouth wrapped around her had taken her from half to fully hard in seconds. But her Sky girl wasn't done.

“I know you will want some assurances that I will remain until your needs are fully satisfied, Era,” Clarke said, stepping away from her. Lexa almost didn't let her go, but something in Clarke’s eyes promised it would be worth her while if she did. The Skayon moved over to a wooden chest at the foot of her bed, unlocked it, and turned back around. She held a length of soft-looking rope and wore an expression that was equal parts challenge and supplication. “This way, you can use me however you please without having to worry about...lapses in discipline.”

A surge of need spiked through Lexa’s belly. Before last night, her previous experiences with lovemaking had been a tender sort of escapism, a chance to forget the cruelties of the real world. But this… some part of her had known, instinctively, that Clarke was offering her a different kind of escape—one that required the same level of intimacy and trust, but with which she had little practice.

There was also something darkly satisfying about it, as she had learned all too well while holding Clarke at the end of the golden chain. The past several months had been full of humiliations: defeat, enslavement, degradation. That cruel nickname, the Stallion of Tondisi, a mockery of her defeat at Nia’s hands, and of her body itself, the last thing she still possessed. The experience of reclaiming some of what had been stolen from her—her power, her pride, her comfort inside her own skin—was a soothing balm on an old wound. She longed to do it again.

Lexa smiled and took the rope from Clarke’s outstretched hand.

She did not miss the slight widening of Clarke’s blue eyes, nor the gasp she drew in through full pink lips. The sight of those lips quickened Lexa’s pulse, and she saw the tender patch of skin at the dip of Clarke’s throat throb subtly in answer. Lexa could no longer resist, and there was no need to. She pulled Clarke into her arms again, claiming the _Skayon’s_ mouth for her own.

Clarke tasted as sweet as she remembered. The _Skayon’s_ lips were soft, pliant, eager to please. When Lexa pressed forward in search of more heat, more flavor, Clarke allowed her entrance immediately. She opened with a quiet whimper, and Lexa groaned in response. The thought of the silky warmth sucking at her tongue wrapped around other places left her dizzy, distracted.

Not too distracted, however, to back Clarke toward the bed.

When Clarke’s thighs touched the mattress, Lexa slid her hands down along her new lover’s curves, shuddering at the shape of them. Clarke’s body was breathtaking—full breasts, wide hips, pleasantly rounded thighs. Each smooth plane molded to Lexa’s palms, and she had the thought that she must be holding heaven itself in her hands.

Then she remembered the rope. She couldn’t feel _all_ of Clarke’s softness while she was still holding it. Better to get the binding over with so she would have the access she craved. With a growl, Lexa tipped Clarke back onto the bed, prowling over her with a feral urgency she had never felt before. It was freeing to let herself become the animal Azgeda claimed her to be—most of all because _Clarke_ took pleasure in the loosening of its chains.

Clarke’s quiet, breathy whines of encouragement made Lexa’s fingers fumble, but she managed to bind Clarke’s wrists to the top of the bed in short order. Tying up beautiful women was new to her, but every Trikru warrior had ample experience with ropes. When she realized that she had not thought to remove Clarke’s dress, a rumble of annoyance vibrated in her throat. She ripped through the gauze, pleased to note the way Clarke’s body arched in surrender as the thin fabric tore.

For a moment, the flame of desire became the light of wonder, and she forgot her goal. “You are beautiful, Clarke,” Lexa murmured without thinking. It was a true statement, but a departure from the promise of roughness her actions had made.

Clarke did not seem to mind. A smile broke across her face and a pink flush tinged her cheeks. “So are you, Lexa.”

The sincerity in Clarke’s voice rekindled Lexa’s need. She swept away the shredded scraps of the dress and filled her hands with Clarke’s breasts. The stiff pink tips pressed urgently into her palms, and Clarke’s breathing sped up as her flush crept down her neck. Lexa knew with certainty that if she checked, she would find wetness between Clarke’s legs, but she resisted. If she touched Clarke there, she would want to push her fingers inside, and if she reminded herself how good the warm, clinging muscles felt, she would want to bury herself within.

Besides, Clarke had promised to serve her as penance for the grievous sin of allowing her to wake alone.

Lexa knelt above her captive, one calf on either side of Clarke’s midsection. She amused herself by tugging and twisting the peaks of Clarke’s nipples, but the sounds Clarke made inevitably drew her attention to the ache between her own legs. Her length throbbed with its own heartbeat, swollen and dripping.

The decision to slide herself between the swells of Clarke’s breasts was not made consciously. She simply wanted contact, and any part of Clarke’s body would do. But when she looked down to see herself resting there, in the dip of Clarke’s cleavage, her tip inches away from Clarke’s waiting mouth, desire took hold. She used her hands to press Clarke’s breasts together, groaning as Clarke’s satin skin brushed against her on either side.

Clarke seemed surprised, but also pleased. She craned her neck and flicked out her tongue, trying to catch the head as Lexa rocked her hips forward, but Lexa withdrew without allowing it. If she possessed any need greater than seeking her own pleasure, it was to provide Clarke with the same—and she strongly suspected that denial, followed by laying an indisputable claim on the _Skayon’s_ body, was the way to achieve that.

The wetness dripping from her shaft and also her entrance made her movements slicker and smoother. Lexa’s stomach clenched as fullness pounded within her, loudly demanding release. She was rising more swiftly than expected, and she hadn’t even claimed the heat of Clarke’s mouth yet. But pumping between Clarke’s breasts felt better than she had expected, even without the hungry strokes of Clarke’s tongue. She decided to split the difference, changing her angle so Clarke’s seeking mouth could kiss the very tip of her.

Clarke let out an eager gasp the first time Lexa got close enough to make contact with her lips. The heat of her breath was enough to make Lexa pulse, but somehow the mewl of protest that Clarke made when she realized Lexa was not going to slide into her mouth was even more arousing. Lexa did it a couple more times, thrusting through the valley between Clarke’s perfect breasts, struggling not to groan every time the tip of Clarke’s tongue flicked out to taste her, or Clarke’s lips tried to suckle at her swollen head.

With every thrust, Clarke’s eyes grew wider and more pleading, her whimpers louder and more desperate, until Lexa couldn't stand it any longer. She wasn't going to last, but she didn’t want to lose the illusion of control. She hadn’t had any in so long, and now Clarke was offering it to her as a gift. It only took her a moment to figure out how she could release the pressure pounding in her cock and maintain her role.

“Is there something you want, Skayon?” Lexa asked, sliding her fingers through Clarke’s hair and pulling her head away from where it was straining to reach her cock. As she had suspected, Clarke groaned at the rough treatment, and it was a struggle not to explode then and there at the wide-eyed expression of desire on her face.

“Please, Commander,” Clarke said in a breathy moan, “please let me taste you…”

Lexa eyed her narrowly. “This is meant to be a punishment, Clarke. Tell why I should reward you.”

Clarke whined, straining a bit against her bonds. “I know I was disobedient before, but I’ve been so good for you, Domina...haven't I?”

Lexa pretended to consider. “I suppose that's true...very well. I will grant you what you ask.”

As much as she wanted to feed Clarke’s pleasure, Lexa couldn’t help feeling the selfish desire to mark her as well. Even though they would soon return to being no more than gladiator and Domina, at least in the eyes of the world outside this room, Lexa burned to somehow stake her claim on the incredible woman beneath her—even if it was in a way that only they would remember.

_Why not do both?_

Lexa shuddered at the selfish, hedonistic thought, but she had no will left to deny her base impulse. “Open your mouth and close your eyes,” she ordered, pulling Clarke’s head forward. “Don’t open them again before I allow it.”

Clarke obeyed, eyes shut tight and tongue stretched out eagerly in anticipation. With a low groan, Lexa thrust her hips forward, sliding into the warmth of Clarke’s mouth at last.

The moment Clarke’s lips closed around her head, Lexa let out a gasp. She pushed as deep as she could, seeking the heat of Clarke’s throat, and she wasn't disappointed. Despite the angle, her _Skayon_ was able to relax enough to take her nearly to the base. When she felt the muscles of Clarke’s throat ripple, however, she was gone. The pressure pounding along her shaft burst free, sending the first harsh spurts of seed directly into Clarke’s belly.

Lexa moaned long and loud. She could have stayed where she was forever, letting Clarke swallow over and over and milk her for every last drop, but she had promised to give Clarke a taste. With incredible effort, she drew her hips back, hissing as inches of her shaft were exposed to the air. Clarke whined around her pleadingly, but her whimpers of protest turned to hums of pleasure as the next few jets hit her tongue. She lashed the head furiously, running her tongue through the divot in search of more. Lexa found herself no longer gripping Clarke’s head for control, but clinging on for dear life.

And yet her instincts to lay claim to her domina would not be denied. Grimacing, she pulled back even further until her head slipped free of Clarke’s mouth with a pop. Then she was treated to the unimaginable sight of her release unfurling across Clarke’s face, painting its lovely curves and planes with sticky white strands.

***

Clarke whimpered as wet stripes of heat splashed across her face, fighting her instincts in order to remain still. She resisted the urge to chase the twitching head of Lexa’s cock with her tongue, but as Lexa’s come continued to spill, another of her orders became too difficult to obey. The temptation to watch grew and grew until Clarke opened her eyes, craving the sight of Lexa’s release almost as much as the taste.

The sight sent a powerful shudder of desire racing down her spine to pool in her belly. Lexa knelt above her, length in hand, massaging the loose skin just beneath her cockhead with the ring of her thumb and forefinger. Whenever she completed a stroke, stopping just beneath the puffy tip, more wetness dribbled out from the shiny, pulsing slit at its center. Her spurts were softer than they had been spraying down Clarke’s throat, beginning to taper off, but Lexa’s body still tensed with each weak slip of heat that escaped her shaft.

Without even thinking, Clarke opened her mouth wide and extended her tongue, pleading without words for one more taste. She gazed up at Lexa with all the need she could muster, and Lexa let out a cracked groan, resting herself once more in the cradle of Clarke’s tongue. Their eyes remained locked as Lexa milked the tail-end of her orgasm into Clarke’s mouth, until eventually her hand fell away and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Clarke took advantage of the fact that Lexa didn’t withdraw. She swallowed down the last few drops of ambrosia, and then latched her lips around Lexa’s tip once more, suckling gently to make sure there was nothing left. It seemed Lexa had spent herself, but Clarke wasn’t discouraged. The fire in Lexa’s eyes had dimmed a little, but it was far from extinguished.

Her persistence was rewarded. After a minute of slow sucking and light kittenish licks to Lexa’s slit, the soft shaft between her lips began to stir. Lexa’s moan of approval, as well as the subtle jerk of her hips, told Clarke to increase her efforts. She relaxed her mouth, allowing Lexa to slide down her throat once more for a few uneven thrusts. Though her lungs took on a subtle burn and the back of her throat ached, she swallowed deliberately, massaging Lexa’s stiffening cock as best she could. She gazed up into her new lover’s face, overcome with pride and affection at the expression of pleasure etched there.

Lexa’s smile showed similar affection, but what it did not hold was patience. She stroked Clarke’s chin with the side of her thumb, smearing the mess that clung there, then grazed Clarke’s cheek, pressing in firmly. It took Clarke a moment to understand that Lexa was stroking the outline of her own cock through her hollowed cheeks, but the realization was a dizzying one.

She got the chance to gasp, because Lexa withdrew a second later, sliding from her throat and mouth with a loud, wet pop. The obscene noise coaxed a fresh wave of wetness from between Clarke’s legs. Her thighs were as stained as her face, and she could feel thick strands of her own arousal clinging to them, forming glistening ropes.

Lexa’s awareness centered on the same place at the same time. She shifted down along Clarke’s body, kissing down the slope of her chest, drawing the peak of a nipple into her mouth. The pleasant burn made Clarke buck, a fact which Lexa did not fail to notice. She growled, grasping Clarke’s hips at their widest point, pressing them down into the mattress.

“Keep still,” she ordered, “or I will tie your legs too.”

Part of Clarke longed to obey, trembling with the desire to bend beneath Lexa’s every muttered word. But another, greater part of her wished for something more—for Lexa’s rough, unrelenting thrusts within her, a wildness she knew she would only receive if she resisted a little at first, just to feed Lexa’s flame.

And so, while Lexa switched back and forth between her breasts, torturing her nipples and leaving them aching and slick with spit, Clarke made her decision. She slid the sole of her foot down Lexa’s calf, wrapping the opposite knee around Lexa’s waist and tilting up to brush her wetness along Lexa’s firm belly. She managed to paint one, two strokes against her lover’s abdomen before Lexa rumbled in warning. The sound sent shivers through Clarke’s deepest places, but she was far from discouraged. She rolled her hips again, yelping in pleased pain when Lexa’s teeth sank into the tender flesh of her breast.

The rest happened in a blur. Lexa’s firm stomach disappeared, but Clarke’s whine of dismay became a cry of joy as Lexa’s shaft nudged between her lips to take its place. It only prodded at first, testing her wetness and seeking out her opening, but Clarke didn’t mind. Lexa’s tip was leaking again, spilling slips of heat against her.

“Tell me,” Lexa rasped into the base of Clarke’s throat, her voice broken and cracked, “who you belong to.”

A flash of heat prevented Clarke from answering for several seconds. “You, Era.”

“Heda,” Lexa muttered against Clarke’s damp pulse point. The gladiator’s hips quivered, and Clarke could tell she was fighting the urge to thrust. “And who does this belong to?” This time, the motion of Lexa’s body was deliberate. The blunt head slid slowly along Clarke’s slit, nudging her swollen clit before returning to her entrance.

Clarke’s thighs twitched around Lexa’s lean hips, and she had to swallow before answering: “This cunt belongs to Heda.”

The words did exactly what Clarke hoped they would. She had never heard a quiet roar before, but there was no other way to describe the sound that bubbled up from Lexa’s chest as she joined their bodies. The ache of emptiness followed by the shock of fullness made Clarke’s every muscle stiffen, then melt in relief. Lexa was inside her. All was right.

Clarke had only a moment to savor the sensation before Lexa drew back, then slammed into her again with enough force to steal her breath. The satisfaction of having Lexa within her at last was replaced by burning need, the need to feel her lover pound into her over and over... and finally, to spend inside her. Clarke clenched in anticipation, fluttering around Lexa’s length.

Lexa’s muscles stiffened, then surged. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she growled, giving her hips another hard snap. “You've behaved so well. Don’t make me punish you now.”

Clarke tried to answer, but all that came from her mouth was a sharp cry as Lexa took up a brutal rhythm. She wasn’t moving quickly—in fact, she withdrew so slowly that Clarke could feel every inch sliding out of her—but when Lexa drove back inside, it was with every ounce of her considerable strength. Clarke almost wished she hadn't suggested the rope. She could only imagine how exquisite the shifting muscles in Lexa’s back and rear would feel under her hands.

As good as it felt to have Lexa thrusting between her legs, hitting her deepest places, the pace wasn't fast enough. Warmth grew in Clarke’s belly with each harsh stroke of Lexa’s hips, but she knew it wouldn't be enough to send either of them over the edge. And she didn't just want to topple over with Lexa—she wanted them to fly together.

Clarke let the light of challenge flare in her eyes, locking her gaze with Lexa’s and squeezing down deliberately. The gladiator’s hips stuttered out of rhythm, but even more gratifying, in Clarke’s opinion, was the way Lexa’s eyes went wide as her length gave a heavy throb. Then they narrowed, clear green irises growing stormy and dangerous, and Clarke shivered with delight.

“Punishment it is, then.” Lexa dug her fingers into Clarke’s hips, clutching hard enough to bruise. “Your body is mine to use, but it seems that’s a lesson you've forgotten.” She increased her pace, driving delirious moans from Clarke’s chest each time she buried her shaft. “If I were a cruel Heda, I would pull out of you… spend myself on your belly...but your cunt feels too good.”

Clarke spasmed at the words, clinging to the ropes that bound her wrists. She was certain she would break if Lexa actually carried out such a threat. Never before had she craved release so intently, to the point where a lover’s refusal to indulge her threatened to drive her mad. But Lexa wasn’t finished: “Nevertheless, if you release before me, you will be denied the honor of holding my seed. Do you understand?”

The harsh words, the tone in which they were delivered, and the movement of Lexa’s cock within her left Clarke trembling on the edge of ecstasy, too overwhelmed to answer. But when Lexa’s eyes grew darker still, Clarke mustered the last shreds of her sanity to gasp, “Yes...Commander.”

With a dangerous growl, Lexa seized Clarke’s thighs, pushing them back until her knees were nearly at her ears and her cunt, overflowing with warmth and want, was totally exposed. Clarke whimpered in mingled desire and embarrassment, but Lexa only took a moment to rake an appreciative eye over the view before rutting back into her.

Clarke flung her head back against the pillows, and a long, keening moan escaped her lips. Lexa was hitting the perfect spot over and over with each savage thrust, building her pleasure up at an astonishing pace. Suddenly it seemed a far more difficult thing to keep herself from coming before Lexa did. She feared if she so much as breathed too suddenly, or let go of the ropes that rubbed against her shaking palms, she would lose her weakening grip altogether.

But Lexa was merciless. She seized Clarke’s hair, pulling her head up. “Look, Skayon,” she rasped, her rhythm continuing uninterrupted. “Watch as I claim you.”

Clarke whined as her blurry eyes focused on the sight of Lexa’s cock plunging in and out of her. Her lips were stretched obscenely wide around the thick shaft, and she could both see and feel herself clench around its glistening base every time Lexa slammed home. Her hammering pulse quickened, the muscles in her stomach trembling against her inevitable release.

At last, Lexa took pity. At the hilt of her next thrust, she bent her head, muttering words both rough and tender against Clarke’s lips. “Teik ai laik odon, Skayon," she growled against Clarke's lips. "Noful hefdong kom yu Heda na kom growon kom hefgapa fil yu yongkepa op."

Clarke had only a vague awareness of what the words meant—her knowledge of Trigedasleng was rudimentary—but her body had already reached the breaking point. She squeezed down in utter desperation, clutching around Lexa until spots floated before her eyes. She would _die_ , she thought, if Lexa didn’t release within her. She could feel her lover’s fullness, all the straining pressure that Lexa struggled to hold back, and she ached to have it for her own.

Lexa’s cock twitched once, twice. Then the twitching became a powerful ripple, followed by stuttering spurts of hot fluid. A joyful sob cracked in Clarke’s chest as Lexa spent inside her, pumping her full of her promised reward. Her muscles gave greedy pulls, drawing the broken stream deeper still, but the wild fluttering was all but useless. Lexa’s throbbing head was already nestled snug against the entrance to her womb, and though the gladiator’s hips jerked frantically with each jet of seed she spilled, she did not withdraw so much as an inch.

Clarke could not hold back the river any longer. She smothered her wail in the salty skin of Lexa’s shoulder, biting down in a fruitless effort to quiet her screams. The pinch of her teeth, or perhaps the quivering of her cunt, pulled still more precious fluid from Lexa’s cock, shuddering splashes of warmth that pooled within her core.

That warmth spread from her most sacred, yearning places to every inch of her body—burning through muscle and bone, devouring her flesh like fire. It was savage, primal, but when she stared into Lexa’s eyes, she found so much more. There was awe and wonder, the most gentle of passions, with tenderness to spare. Clarke rolled her hips as close to Lexa’s as she could, sealing their joined bodies. If her heart bled so freely, if her soul shook so fiercely each time Lexa made love to her, even under the guise of degradation, then grateful surrender was her only option.

And yet, her hands. Her hands could not grasp what her heart desired most, and that made it—made her—weep with longing. She clung to Lexa with her legs, since that was the only freedom she had, and blinked away tears, mewling against Lexa’s sweet-smelling throat in the faint hope that her lover would hear and be able to understand.

By some miracle, Lexa did. She removed her right hand from Clarke’s hips, fumbling with the knots until, finally, the first loosened. Clarke did not wait for her to undo the second. She grasped Lexa’s right hand in her left, lacing their fingers together, clutching as tightly as she could while she milked the last weak pulses of Lexa’s seed from her slowly softening cock.

Once the last of her release was spent, Lexa collapsed onto Clarke with a low sigh. Clarke eagerly accepted her weight, running her hand along the relaxed muscles of her lover’s back. For a timeless while she was content merely to lie there, Lexa’s softening shaft cradled inside her, Lexa’s breathing becoming slower and steadier, Lexa’s scent—leather and pine and something strangely sweet—filling her nose.

Clarke thought she might slip back into sleep herself, even though she had appointments to attend, obligations to fulfill; even though the cost of being found like this, with her gladiator unchained and still within her, would be far greater than her already tattered reputation could bear. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to care.

A thought occurred to her, one which made laughter bubble out of her throat. Lexa’s head jerked up at the noise, brow furrowing adorably in confusion and prolonging Clarke’s fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she had calmed herself, even though she wasn't, not truly. “I was just thinking… If somebody had told me a few weeks ago when I was 'invited’ to witness the execution of the Stallion of Tondisi that I would wind up buying her life, conspiring with her to overthrow the Empress, pretending to couple with her in public, and then taking her to my bed, I would have called for a medicus.”

Lexa gave her a cautious smile, still looking sleepy and a bit confused. “And if someone had told me back then that I would be here, in the arms of the most beautiful woman in the Azgedan Empire, instead of rotting in an unmarked grave, I would probably have laughed in their face,” she said, a little haltingly. Clarke blushed at the compliment, bringing up her hand to stroke Lexa’s face in lieu of a response.

But when her words returned to her, she found them to be of a more contemplative than romantic bent. “I don't know why, but something about this...us...feels sort of inevitable,” Clarke said, and suddenly it was a struggle to meet Lexa’s eyes as they bored into hers, clear and curious and cautious. There was something hiding behind them, she thought hazily, some secret pain or hope that she wasn't ready to share. _Maybe even both._

“And what is _this...us?”_ Lexa asked, looking as though she wasn't certain whether she wanted to know the answer.

Clarke found that she didn't have one herself, even though her words had prompted the question. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly, after pondering for a little while. “And I’m not certain we’ll be able to find out until both of us are truly free. But...I want to find out.”

There it was. She’d put it all out there in halting words, all of the aching hope and fear tingling in her chest, the feelings she could sense budding beneath the soil of her heart and preparing to sprout. All they would need to bloom was a little encouragement; all they would need to wither was disinterest or dismissal. Clarke felt even more vulnerable in that moment than she had when she was tied to the bed and at Lexa's mercy.

Lexa was silent an awfully long while, ghosts chasing each other across her eyes as she considered. Just when Clarke thought she couldn't stand it anymore longer, her lips moved to softly deliver two words that melted the chill suffusing Clarke’s body:

“Me too.”

Clarke couldn't help herself. She laughed again, flinging her free arm around Lexa’s neck and drawing her down into a deep kiss. She could taste Lexa’s smile against her lips, and its rarity made it all the sweeter. Happiness was brimming in her chest, so much that she felt like she couldn't contain it all, that she was certain to explode with it.

Then the door burst open.

***

Blind panic swelled in Lexa’s chest, spurring her breath to quicken and her heart to thud against her ribs. Her head whipped toward the noise, scanning for its source, and her gaze landed upon a dark-haired woman just inside the doorway. The intruder was armed with a sword, although it remained strapped to her back, and her dress was Skaikru. That should have been a reassurance, but Lexa’s first instinct was to protect the woman beneath her. Naked and vulnerable though she was, she made a shield of her body, curling protectively around Clarke so nothing could touch her.

Clarke appeared to have other ideas. “Octavia!” she shouted, poking her head out from around Lexa’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was clearly annoyed rather than afraid, and Lexa relaxed the slightest bit, although she made no effort to abandon her defensive position.

The woman’s face, which had worn an expression of surprise, darkened rapidly with anger. Lightning flashed within her dark eyes. “What are _you_ doing, Clarke? With your _slave?”_ She spat the words in utter disgust, as though they were the foulest things she had ever tasted.

Lexa hadn’t believed her pride could be wounded by such trivial things any longer. Since her capture, she had experienced far worse things than being called a ‘slave’ in a voice that carried such repulsion. But after having touched what felt like freedom for an hour or so, after having spent a beautiful golden morning with Clarke, the words stung like a whip. Instead of flinching, she became angry. Her eyes narrowed, and she began lifting off Clarke in preparation to deal with this woman, whether the idea was advisable or not.

Clarke’s free hand pressed against the middle of her back, urging her to stay.

“This is not what it looks like,” Clarke said, not in the way one might make excuses, but as someone might whose honor had been called into question. She moved her other hand, the one still tied to the headboard. “I am bound, Octavia. If I were to take advantage of someone, would I really allow her to restrain me?”

 _Someone,_ Lexa realized, beneath the rest of her racing thoughts. _Not ‘my slave’._

The woman, Octavia, seemed to question herself. A little of her anger faded, although her eyes remained narrowed with suspicion. “You hold her life in your hands—you could have ordered her to bind them. Manipulation is just the same as physical force.”

It was only then that Lexa understood why Octavia was truly angry—not at the discovery of the Skaikru Ambassador in bed with a common slave, the same ‘shameful’ sight that had so excited Nia’s guests the night before. Octavia had assumed she was an unwilling participant, and was enraged on _her_ behalf. It took a moment for Lexa to comprehend this. She knew some members of Nia’s Empire were opposed to slavery, especially if they were not truly Azgedan, but she had not been prepared for such a reaction.

“There is no manipulation here,” Lexa insisted, meeting Octavia’s eyes. “Clarke has asked for my permission before every touch, and I granted it. Unless you think a slave is incapable of making such a decision.”

This clearly made Octavia uncomfortable. It was a question with two correct answers, but in the end, she seemed to believe what she was being told. She closed the door, which Lexa hadn’t even realized was hanging ajar, and relaxed, turning her back to the bed. “Put on some clothes. I’ll wait.”

“Or you could leave,” Clarke said with obvious reproach. She pushed gently at Lexa’s shoulder, and Lexa withdrew, shuddering a little at the loss of warmth. She tried to offer the silken sheets to Clarke, in an effort to preserve some of her lover’s modesty, but after fumbling to free her own wrist, Clarke rejected the gift and gave them to her instead—a gesture for which Lexa was quietly grateful. Clarke had given her soul some peace within its skin, but that didn’t mean she wished to test her strengthened confidence before a stranger.

“I will do no such thing,” Octavia insisted to the wall. “News of what you did last night is already spreading. What were you _thinking,_ Clarke? I couldn’t believe it—”

“So you came here to demand an explanation, and found me in the arms of the woman you thought I had defiled,” Clarke finished for her. She rose from the bed, departing with a stroke of reassurance to Lexa’s bundled arms. “You need to tighten the reins on your anger, Octavia, and you need to trust me, because if you continue to lose your temper, everything we’re working for will fall apart.”

Octavia turned around, eyes alight with interest. “So you _are_ planning something! That’s what I told myself when I first heard the gossip.”

“Yes. And this is exactly why I waited to tell you.” Clarke did not spare Octavia another glance as she sorted through the dresses in her wardrobe, selecting two and draping them over her arm to take back with her. “Restraint is not one of your finer skills.”

“Tell me,” Octavia said.

Lexa could not hide her surprise. This woman seemed almost _eager_ to commit treason against the most powerful civilization in existence. She could not tell whether her attitude was admirable or foolish. Both, in all likelihood—since it reminded her of her own before Trikru’s fall.

“In a minute. First, let Lexa get dressed.” Clarke passed one of the robes to Lexa, and Lexa’s heart felt lighter as she took it. It had been a long while indeed since she had worn anything of good quality, let alone something with a beautiful design.

She put the dress on. It was loose in a few places because of Clarke’s curves, but the fit wasn’t uncomfortable. Slowly, she began to smile. A slave’s tunic and a gladiator’s armor were unisex by default, and she had previously enjoyed significant choice in her wardrobe—from finery to functionality, feminine and masculine and in between, suitable for all her needs. It was refreshing to wear something like this, if only for a short time.

She felt a slight tinge of nervousness as she turned to face Clarke, but her worries were wiped away by the look on her new lover’s face. Apparently, Clarke found her just as attractive in a dress as she did wearing armor.

 _Although if I am not mistaken, I believe she would prefer me out of it,_ Lexa thought, noticing the glint in Clarke’s eye. But at Octavia’s impatient throat-clearing, both of them shook off the cloak of desire in which they had been wrapped all night, and most of the morning.

“You’re right,” Clarke said at last. “I— _we_ are planning something.”

“We?” Octavia asked, suspicion warring with eagerness on her face.

“Lexa and I,” Clarke clarified. “We’re going to use her appeal with the people, and her contacts among the gladiators, and my leverage with the nobility—”

“To do what, exactly?”

Annoyance flashed briefly across Clarke’s face at the interruption, but it fell away in favor of a dark grin that spread slowly across her lips.

“Overthrow the Empress.”

Octavia’s jaw dropped, and there was stunned silence for a little while. By the smirk on Clarke’s face, Lexa guessed that surprising Octavia like this wasn't something that happened often. But the Skayon recovered quickly.

“You’re insane,” she said admiringly, “but so am I. When do we start?”

Clarke’s smile turned positively wicked. “Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> *note: this required A LOT of imagination on my part, so bear with me. 
> 
> Teik ai laik odon, Skayon. Noful* hefdong kom yu Heda na kom growon* kom hefgapa* fil yu yongkepa* op: Finish me, Sky girl. Empty your Commander's cock until the Stallion's seed fills your womb.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I know. It's been a day and an age. I (N1ghtwr1ter) have been struggling with trying to find a job, and that's eaten up just about all of my time and energy. However! We're back, and we're going to finish this thing. So buckle up, kids; it's gonna be a wild ride from here on out.

For Lexa, returning to Ontari’s ludus was like travelling back to a country of grey after spending a year in vividly painted paradise. The weary faces of the slaves, the colorless dust, even the smell of the buildings all spoke of despair. The aura of exhaustion had worn on Lexa before, but having tasted heaven on Clarke’s lips, returning to Earth was all the more unbearable.

Lexa held Clarke’s parting words close in her heart as the guards escorted her across the training grounds:  _ “Stay safe for me, Lexa. I’ll come for you soon, I promise.”  _ She trusted the words were true, despite all previous experience. She thought she had given up wishing for a better future, but something about Clarke made her hope again.

She was not entirely surprised, though certainly not pleased, to catch a glimpse of Ontari watching her entrance from the balcony. The noblewoman did not speak or try to catch her attention, but they locked eyes as Lexa was taken to the gladiator’s quarters, and from what Lexa could tell from fifty yards, her oh-so-generous host was smirking.

Under other circumstances, Lexa might have been angry, or even embarrassed, but Ontari held no such power over her now. In fact, she felt the slightest tinge of amusement, knowing that Clarke’s show had fooled them all—although it was swiftly followed by a pang of emptiness. Now that she was capable of experiencing emotions other than fear and resentment again, it was far more difficult to control them.

But control them she had to. They arrived at their destination, and while one guard used a massive iron key to unlock the door, Lexa heard the other mutter something lewd along the lines of, “Pity for you, then, having no one to fuck but this rabble after having a noblewoman’s cunt.”

Lexa forced her face to remain blank. While it was true that her relationship with Clarke was now undeniably sexual, the fact that it was available for public consumption and commentary did not please her at all. She kept the daggers in her eyes aimed squarely at the floor as she was ushered in and the doors shut behind her.

To her great displeasure, she was greeted by several stares. She had been returned at lunchtime, it seemed, and almost all the gladiators were seated at the large wooden tables, present to witness her return. The common room was quiet, but not silent. Murmurs swept from person to person, accompanied by low laughter.

Lexa considered saying something, but decided against it. Actions spoke louder than words. Holding her chin high, she forced her lips into a subtle smirk, strutting toward the long table in the back of the room where the large pots of stew were waiting. She had no need to eat, since Clarke had made sure she was well fed before her departure, but neither could she retreat to her room. Her priority now was to avert suspicion at all costs. By acting full of herself, the way the other gladiators surely expected, she would deflect attention sooner than otherwise.

Unfortunately, she didn’t even manage to fill her bowl before someone decided to push her boundaries. “So you’re back, then?” a large-set, beefy man said—Quint, Lexa remembered. “Did you get tired, or did the Skaikru slut get tired  _ of _ you?”

Lexa gave him a cold look, and then deliberately turned away. She ignored him, ladling a few spoonfuls of the questionable-smelling stew into her bowl.

Her non-response failed to satisfy Quint. “Wasted opportunity,” he grunted. “If it’d been me, I would’ve made sure she couldn’t walk for days.”

There were a few inhales of breath, and Lexa’s mood soured further when she noticed that they had drawn something of a crowd. It seemed more people than usual were waiting in line for seconds, or at least pretending to. With an audience, her tactics would need to change.

“How do you know I didn’t?”

That earned some laughs, as well as a scowl from Quint.

“Clearly you couldn't have satisfied your domina enough, or she wouldn't have returned you to this dump.”

Lexa sighed, setting down her bowl and bracing her hands on the table before her. The back of her neck was prickling at the eyes on her, the tension simmering in the room. She might have drawn some laughs from them at Quint’s expense, but the gladiators were spoiling for a fight.

_ I need to be making allies here, not enemies,  _ she thought, as her mind raced through her rapidly narrowing options. She didn’t want to fight Quint, but if she refused a direct challenge, the others would see her as weak. However, Quint was one of their own in a way that she was not. If she beat him too badly, they might resent her as a vicious interloper. She darted a glance at the doors to the hall, but only saw the backs of the guards. There would be no help from that quarter.

_ Diplomacy, then,  _ Lexa thought grimly, pushing herself up from the table to stand squarely facing Quint. There was an ugly look in his eye that gave her little hope that her negotiations might succeed, but she had to try.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Lexa asked him in a low, calm voice. Quint’s eyes narrowed. His response was loud enough for the whole hall to hear.

“Yes,” he growled. “You led the failed rebellion against the Ice Empire. My brother was burned alive because he rode with you.”

Guilt and shame rose in Lexa, but she swallowed them down. The mood of the crowd had turned darker, and she could not let them see any signs of weakness. Stepping in closer to Quint, she maintained the same firm, even tone as she replied, “I compelled no one to join the rebellion. Your brother made his choice.”

It was the truth, but evidently Quint wasn't interested in that. His complexion darkened with fury, and his fists balled at his sides. Lexa reluctantly dropped one foot back into a fighting stance. She had hoped to avoid trouble, but trouble had found her anyway.

The room quieted like the sudden hush before a storm, and then Quint lashed out at her with a roar of rage. His punch was heavy but fast, aimed straight at her head, and Lexa was surprised enough by its speed to skip the possibility of a counter-attack in order to evade. He followed it up with a flurry of jabs, all of which Lexa blocked, moving back quickly. She mustn’t let him close with her. If it came down to grappling, she would most likely lose.

Yells erupted around the dining hall, chairs scraping the stone floor as the gladiators rose from their seats to form a rough ring around Lexa and Quint. She couldn't tell what they were saying, whether it was words of derision or encouragement or pure bloodthirstiness, but her heart sank. How was she supposed to forge an alliance, let alone an army, out of people like these?

There was no more than a second to consider. Quint swung again, and Lexa ducked, aiming a strike at his midsection. He was built like a bear, with a thick barrel chest and hard stomach, but Lexa knew where to aim. She caught him under his sternum, and was pleased to feel him jolt before she darted out of reach. He grunted, grabbing clumsily, but she was already several steps ahead, close enough to the outside of the ring to feel the breath of the spectators on her neck. She moved sideways, bracing her back against a table instead.

  
Quint raised his head, eyes blazing. He charged her, but Lexa was ready. She waited until the last possible second, then leapt onto the table, springing off its edge to sail over Quint’s head. Before he realized what had happened, Lexa landed behind him on the balls of her feet. She struck the back of his head with all of her strength. The sooner this was over, the better.   
  
The blow sent Quint staggering forward. He fell, bashing his nose on the table’s edge and sending up a spray of blood. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, and a strained silence fell over the room.   
  
The first voice that broke it wasn’t friendly. “That bitch hurt Quint!”   
  
“The dickhead deserved it,” someone else growled.   
  
“Take that back, or I’ll—”   
  
“Don’t,” Lexa barked in her best Commander’s voice, but it was too late. The gladiators completely ignored her, rounding on each other instead. Shouts of anger rang out, bodies collided, and tables were overturned. The fight was on.    
  
Lexa didn’t waste her breath cursing as a chair sailed over her head to shatter against someone else, but her mind was full of profanity. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid, and she was well aware that she was a prime target. Her eyes darted around, looking for an escape route, but there was none. She was trapped in a mass of bodies, and it took all her agility to avoid wildly swinging limbs.   
  
She dodged left, but someone rounded on her, a beast of a man missing an eye. She didn’t know him, but from the spiteful expression on his ugly face, he knew her. He raised his huge fist, and Lexa panicked inwardly. In a crowded brawl like this, there simply wasn’t enough room to make use of her agility. It was all she could do to keep from being jostled off her feet.   
  
“Enough!”   
  
A loud voice rang out, and suddenly, the man about to punch her stopped. He turned, and behind him, Lexa saw her savior: a brown-skinned man with a bald head, a firm jaw, and surprisingly warm eyes. She recognized him, but didn’t have time to ponder how. The others nearby were giving him a wide berth, so she took advantage of the pause in the fight to step close to his side.   
  
Gradually, the circle of stillness widened, an eye within the hurricane. The faces of the gladiators were still enraged, but by some miracle, the brawl was over. It had ended as abruptly as it had began. Lexa could scarcely believe it.  _ He calmed the storm with a single word. How? _ It seemed impossible—she would have thought it so if she hadn’t witnessed it first-hand—but the proof was staring her in the face.   
  
_ Wait, _ Lexa realized as she took a closer look,  _ he isn’t a gladiator. _ He wore the uniform of a porter, and suddenly, she remembered how she knew him. Her savior was none other than the man Doctore had instructed her to fight upon her arrival at Ontari’s ludus. Obviously, he had been punished with a demotion. That didn’t mean the other gladiators didn’t respect him, however. In fact, they seemed to offer him a surprising amount of deference, rabble that they were.   
  
“Lincoln?” one of the gladiators said, with audible surprise in his voice. “What are you doing here?”   
  
“Why are you defending her?”

Lincoln adopted a stern look. “This is foolishness,” he said, gesturing at the destruction wrought by the brawl. What remained of their meal was overturned, spilled around several fallen forms. It didn’t appear at first glance that anyone was dead, but quite a few gladiators had been knocked unconscious. “Most of you here are slaves. Will you fight your brothers and sisters when we are all captives here? And you glory-seekers, how will fighting outside the arena benefit you? There’s no honor in any of it.”   
  
“But she—” one of the gladiators protested.   
  
Lincoln glared at him, jaw jutting out. “I don’t care. Violence is a last resort.”   
  
“Bullshit,” another gladiator said, jerking his head toward Lexa. “She started it. Disrespectful bitch—”

“Quint deserves what he got. He’s always sticking his cock in the bear’s mouth anyway.” 

“No.” Once more, when Lincoln spoke, the gladiators quieted. “We are better than this.”

Once more, Lexa was astonished. The majority of the gladiators, while clearly still annoyed, seemed to carry a tinge of shame. Many shoulders around the circle slumped, and none argued with Lincoln any further. Though the fight had hardly been her idea, even Lexa felt rather embarrassed to have been part of it.

“I have no quarrel with anyone here,” Lexa said, deciding it was her turn to speak. “Not even Quint.” She kept her voice low and her posture unassuming, but held her head high, maintaining eye contact with the men and women surrounding her. Achieving the correct balance in her body language was crucial. “I am simply trying to survive, like the rest of you. I have no desire to fight.”

Lincoln’s heavy hand descended upon her shoulder, a clear gesture of approval. “We would all do better to help each other instead of hurting each other. Gladiators see enough violence in the ring. Who among you agrees?”

There was a palpable hesitation, and at first, Lexa feared the crowd might turn on them after all. However, a few gladiators shuffled forward, standing apart from the ring to show their approval. Once the seal was broken, others followed suit, until the majority were in agreement. The last few grumbled, looking unhappy, but they too went along with the group.

“Then we should clean up this mess,” Lincoln said, gesturing at the overturned tables, scattered bowls, and tipped cauldron of stew.

“You’re joking.”

The voice was burbling, its breaths thick and wet, and Lexa turned to see Quint hauling himself up from the ground. His chin and a good portion of his chest were drenched in blood, and he looked rather terrifying in spite of the fact that he swayed as he clambered to his feet, gripping tight to the side of the table that had felled him.

“Why should we clean this mess? We’re gladiators!”

“We,” Lincoln said, not angrily, but with conviction, “are slaves. And we should clean the mess because we made it. No need to ruin the kitchen slaves’ day because of our behavior.”

Quint narrowed his eyes. “There is no ‘we’. You’re nothing but a porter.”

Lincoln sighed, and the look he gave Quint was almost pitying. “And you are nothing but a shortsighted, angry man who cannot dream of anything beyond this.” Once more, he gestured at the mess of a room, and the other gladiators seemed to take his point.

Quint glanced around the circle, wordlessly asking for support but he received little to none. With a snarl, he stormed off, and despite Lincoln’s inspiring words, Lexa was somewhat satisfied to notice him sniff and pinch his nose to stanch the bleeding that had resumed.

Under Lincoln's stony stare, the gladiators began to clean up the mess they’d made of the room, righting tables and bringing rags to sop up spilled pots of stew. After a moment of watching to make sure that his directions were followed, Lincoln joined them, kneeling down to pick up fallen loaves of bread and place them back on a tray. Lexa moved quickly to do the same.

“That was...impressive,” she murmured to him, out of the corner of her mouth.

Lincoln kept his focus on his task. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Everyone is on edge here, primed and ready for a fight. You are no longer a gladiator, but they respect you enough to stop in the middle of a brawl and do servants’ work merely because you tell them to.”

Lincoln rose to his feet, holding a tray of the most soiled and trampled bread. He gave her a sidelong glance. “If the guards had returned and found them fighting, everyone in this room would have felt the lash. I was just trying to protect them.” Lexa’s heart sank at his dismissive tone, but then he nodded at the tray he was carrying. “I need to take these to the midden,” he told her. “You should bring the rest.”

The message was clear:  _ We can’t talk here.  _ Lexa was quick to follow Lincoln through the door to the kitchens and beyond, out to the courtyard where the stinking midden-heap spoiled in the sun.

Lincoln wasted little time in dumping his burden before stepping back. He waited for Lexa to do the same, then turned, leveling her with a hard stare.

“What do you want?”

Lexa looked at him for a long moment before deciding not to play games. “I want your help. You clearly hold some sway with the gladiators. When I give the order, I need them to rise against their masters.”

Lincoln's eyes went wide. “You mean to stage a slave rebellion.”

Lexa shook her head. “Not just the slaves. This goes well beyond them, all the way to the highest levels of society.”

The former gladiator just stared at her for a while before letting out a chuckle. “Of course,” he said. “You work fast...but I suppose that's only to be expected from the Commander.”

“Can I count on you?” Lexa asked, struggling to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I know you don't want to fight yourself, but…”

“I was in your army,” Lincoln told her, “one of your healers. I was captured in the Battle of Mount Weather along with my best friend, Nyko, whom I loved like a brother. We were both purchased as gladiators, but by different luduses. I thought I would never see him again, but one day I found myself facing another man across the sands of the arena. After I killed him, his helmet fell off. It was Nyko.” Lincoln shook his head. “From that day forward, I swore never to take up my sword again unless the cause was just.” He looked up at her with fire in his eyes, then held out his arm for her to clasp in the Trikru fashion. “My blade is yours, Commander.”

Lexa nodded at him as she took it. Her heart ached with sympathy for him, but also swelled with respect and pride. “I look forward to fighting at your side, Lincoln of Trikru.”

“And I yours, Commander. When you call for us, the gladiators of this ludus will answer.”

After releasing Lincoln’s arm, Lexa furrowed her brow. “What about Quint? Surely he and some others will question your judgment, and mine even more.”

Lincoln smiled. “A few, yes, but remember: I have been here a while, long enough to learn about this place and its people. I know which gladiators will be inspired by our cause. The others will join us, or at the very least stay out of our way.”

Lexa nodded in understanding. She admired Lincoln’s principles, but it was reassuring to hear that he would fight when the time was right. “What of the other slaves in the household? They could be of some use with their freedom as reward.”

“I was hoping you would ask,” Lincoln said. “I can think of several slaves who might—”

The sound of approaching footsteps forced him to cut his response short. Lexa turned, and her heart thudded when she saw who had come upon them. Doctore strode toward them with purpose in her steps, and though she had not drawn her whip, it hung menacingly at her hip, placed so as to appear prominent even from a distance. She arrived in short order, and though Lexa dared not draw suspicion to herself by avoiding eye contact, she adopted a respectful posture.

“You’ve returned, I see,” Doctore said, without offering any kind of greeting. “So, would you care to explain why a mere hour after you returned to the ludus from your domina’s bed, I have received reports of fighting in the common area?”

“You have already given the answer, Doctore,” Lexa said. “Some of your charges were not pleased when I returned.”

Doctore’s shrewd gaze shifted over to Lincoln, who returned it in silence. “What about you, Lincoln? Why is a lowly porter consorting with a gladiator next to a garbage heap?”

Lexa held her breath. Lincoln seemed exceptionally trustworthy, but in reality, she hardly knew him. Many in his position would take the opportunity to betray her—and she had been badly disappointed in the past. Lincoln, however, did no such thing. “I suggested that the gladiators should clean up their own mess,” he replied. “Lexa helped me carry out some garbage. We both thought it best for her to remain apart from the other gladiators until tempers cooled.”

Doctore’s suspicion lingered, but at last, she deemed the explanation acceptable. “Very well. Lexa, you will join the others in an hour for training. Lincoln, report back to work… unless you’ve overcome your pride and decided to return to the ring?” She raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly, but Lincoln didn’t answer. Doctore sighed, a softer sound than Lexa had expected. Though she was a harsh woman, Lexa suspected that Doctore had some respect for Lincoln, at the very least.

“Go then, both of you,” she said, waving them away.

Lexa hurried to obey, with Lincoln close behind.

“Separately,” Doctore called after them.

With one last look in her direction, Lincoln headed off on his own, presumably to rejoin the other porters and return to work. Lexa headed back for the common area, more nervous than she had been upon returning to the ludus. One fight, one ally, and one near-discovery later, she had made significant progress in her plans, but that also meant she was in far more danger—and not just from idiots like Quint.

***

Clarke sucked in a breath, taking a moment to mentally prepare herself as she stood in front of the doors to the Skaikru Embassy’s triclinium.  _ This must be something like how Lexa feels before she walks into the arena,  _ Clarke thought.  _ Do or die. _

After weeks of preparations, making offhanded comments that were carefully constructed to be either full of meaning or none at all, depending on who heard them; slowly and cautiously feeling out the various members of each Clan’s nobility; and quietly dispatching favors, gifts, and ultimately invitations, Clarke had arrived here: standing in front of her dining room, about to walk into a crowd of people whom she had determined most likely to be sympathetic to her cause. If she had made even one miscalculation, it was entirely likely that they would all wind up in Nia’s dungeons, awaiting a miserable death. But if she’d chosen wisely...well, she might just emerge from this evening in command of the weapons, armor, and resources she would need to bring about the downfall of the Azgedan Empire.

“No pressure, though,” she muttered to herself under her breath, before nodding at one of the guards— Byrd, who had come all the way with her from Arkadia. Only Skaikru guards and servants were on duty tonight, by design—Clarke’s steward, Monty, had arranged their schedules for just that purpose. The doors swung open, and Clarke entered the dining room.

Every head turned in her direction, and the muted buzz of chatter died away entirely. Pretending as though she hadn't just made an entire room go silent, Clarke pasted a smile on her face and walked among her guests, greeting each one by name and inquiring after the health of siblings or parents or lovers.

“Luna, how are you? I hope the journey up the river wasn't too difficult… Natan, good to see you! I hope Neera and the baby are well… Yonah, how is your father? I heard that he was ailing...oh, so glad to hear that!... Doran, I'm so glad you could make it! I know the roads from the Westwood are difficult this season…”

Clarke let her mouth run in a similar vein until she felt the room beginning to thaw very slightly. She could tell they were still nervous, giving each other sidelong looks and huddling together in small clumps like sheep that have smelled a wolf. Not ideal, but it was the best Clarke thought she could hope for under the circumstances. After greeting her last guest, she made her way to the raised reclining chair in the center of the room and stood upon it, raising the untouched glass of wine that she had plucked from a server’s tray.

“I think you all know why I asked you here tonight, and if you don't, I'm not going to mince words,” Clarke said, looking around at all of them. There was fear on their faces, but also excitement. “We’re here because we all bear the yoke of Azgeda’s rule, and it’s beginning to chafe. We’re here because we’re not satisfied with knuckling under to the whims of a tyrant. We’re here because we believe we can build a better world, and rule it on our own terms.”

There was a low, hushed gasp, as though the room was astonished that she had actually gone ahead and said these things out loud, but it gave way to an approving murmur. However, Clarke knew that she would face dissent sooner rather than later, and she had a strong suspicion where it would come from, too. Her eyes were on Natan, the ambassador for Yujleda, before he’d even finished pushing his way through the crowd. His face was just as sour as ever, but the glint of fear in his eyes was new.

“Azgeda defeated all of us before, or we knuckled under so we wouldn't face their wrath,” he said, glaring at Clarke pointedly. She could feel heat rising to her cheeks, but she kept her chin high and her face calm. When she didn't rise to his bait, Natan’s glower grew even more pronounced. “What makes this time any different?”

“Azgeda conquered us all, it’s true,” Clarke told him, her voice ringing out over the small crowd. “Some of you may have joined the Commander’s Coalition, but only after it was already too late. One by one we fell to the Empire’s might. But look around you.” She paused for a moment to let them follow her direction. “The representatives of eight nations are here tonight. Azgeda may be mighty, but they are not mightier than all of us together.”

At that very moment, the doors to the room burst open. She started, turning toward the noise, and fear stabbed through her heart when she saw who it was. Roan, the Crown Prince of Azgeda, stood in the doorway to the dining room, tailed by two heavily armed guards. Clarke saw her own guards look at her apologetically from behind them, unable to mask their worry. She had kept her plans secret, but they knew this meeting was politically sensitive in nature, and she had ordered there to be no interruptions.

_ Apparently, my orders no longer apply when the Prince decides to storm into my embassy. _

  
Clarke’s mind raced as she tried to come up with a way to save herself. Even if Roan hadn’t heard her from outside, someone in the room was sure to condemn her. Plotting a coup in secret was one thing, but when confronted with the Crown Prince himself, tongues tended to loosen. She had mere moments before he ordered his guards to seize her and take her to a cell…   
  
“It appears I’m late. My apologies.”   
  
She could only stare, open-mouthed, as Roan approached the triclinium. Instead of reclining on one of the available cushions, he stood by her side, looking first at the leaders in attendance, then at her. Amidst Clarke’s confusion, one thought rose above the others:  _ Hold it together. Roan is up to something. Don’t let everyone else see that you have no idea what’s going on. _   
  
“There’s no need for you to apologize,” Clarke said, drawing on all her experience as a negotiator in order to seem calm. The other ambassadors, who had adopted expressions ranging from confusion to terror, relaxed. The room itself seemed to sigh as the tension eased. Clarke, however, remained fully alert, shaking with a flood of frightened energy that she did her best to suppress. When she realized they were all waiting for her to speak, she passed the baton over to Roan. “Would you like to explain your presence here to these good people?”   
  
Roan shot her a look that, if Clarke had to guess, was almost approving. “It should come as no surprise to any of you that I disapprove of the way my mother is handling the affairs of state. She has stretched Azgeda’s borders too far, and as a result, we all suffer. Who among you has seen your nations thrive since they were absorbed into the Ice Empire?”   
  
Several of the ambassadors exchanged wary glances, but none spoke up.   
  
“My point. You were better off governing yourselves. It just so happens that I have the power to cede control back to you…or I will, once my mother is deposed.”   
  
“And you have no reservations about this?” Clarke asked. She made the question sound rehearsed for the benefit of their audience, but secretly, she hung on every word of Roan’s answer.   
  
Once more, he addressed the other ambassadors instead of her. “You all saw my mother’s latest attempt to humiliate me. She put me in the ring with the legendary Commander—the Stallion of Tondisi—and though some of her military decisions have been questionable, she is one of the fiercest warriors of our age. You all know of my prowess in battle, but I am not ashamed to admit that I very well could have died.” At last, he met Clarke’s eyes, and though she stared closely, she could not see deception in them. “If my mother is willing to risk her own son’s life merely to prove a point, how can she be trusted with the lives of an empire?”   
  
Just because she couldn’t see deception, however, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Clarke narrowed her eyes just enough for Roan to see, but not so much for the crowd to notice.  _ I'll play along while we're up here,  _ she thought at him,  _ but the second I can get you alone, you’re going to explain yourself.  _

Roan nodded, apparently taking Clarke’s message. She turned back to face her guests, drawing a deep breath to stoke the fires of courage within herself. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen—from the Prince of Azgeda himself. Our time is at hand, and the hour to strike grows near. I know that you are all loyal and brave, but I must have your word that you are committed to the cause. Will you offer arms and armor to the slaves of Azgeda, when they rise to storm the palace?”

Her question hung in the air, so weighty that Clarke could almost see it, but only for a moment. It was answered by many voices, many shouts, many raised hands:

_ “Aye!” _

“And will you send your soldiers to rout the last of the Empire from this city, and restore it to its rightful ownership?”

There was even less hesitation this time:  _ “Aye!” _

Clarke could feel a fierce grin blooming on her face, and didn't even try to hold it back. “And will you agree to abide by the covenant we make here, to forge a better world out of the fires of the old?”

The voices that answered her were clear and sure, the word loud and unanimous:

“ _ Aye!” _

***

Clarke was still tingling with adrenaline as she stepped off the podium, but she forced herself to calm down. She had to figure out what Roan had to do with all of this, and she still wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't spying for his mother. But she knew her guests must be similarly keyed up, so she caught the eye of her steward and signaled for another round of drinks.

When the wine was flowing to her satisfaction, she grabbed Roan’s arm and tugged him roughly into an antechamber.

“All right, talk,” she hissed, folding her arms over her chest. Roan’s habitual expression of private amusement didn't even flicker at her suspicious tone, but she didn't care. “If you're lying to me, I'll know. I'll have you killed, and I'll make it look like a painful accident.”

Roan’s eyebrows barely rose, but it was enough for Clarke to celebrate internally. “I'm on your side, Ambassador.”

“And why should I believe that? You're the Crown Prince of Azgeda. Why would you support a rebellion against a regime you stand to inherit?”

“Because it's a regime that won't be around for much longer,” Roan said, stepping closer. His voice was low and deadly serious. “My mother’s army is stretched too thin across a vast terrain, and she has done nothing to cultivate good relations with the people she's conquered. Instead, she bleeds them dry and mocks them with her feasting and celebrations. If it wasn't your rebellion, it would be another, two, three years down the road—and I might not make it out of that one alive. This is my chance to make sure that I keep my crown, and the head it will soon sit on.”

Clarke eyed him narrowly, but she could detect nothing but sincerity in his words, and his explanation made sense. The Azgedan Empire was strong but tottering, a bloated body on rickety foundations. “If our revolution succeeds, there will be no more Azgedan Empire,” Clarke told him at last.

Roan nodded. “That's as it should be. I will withdraw my forces from the other Clans’ territories and return to Azgeda. Polis will be the capital of Trikru once more.”

_ Not just Trikru, if I have anything to say about it,  _ Clarke thought, mind working furiously, but she sensed that Roan was still holding something back. “That's it? Really? You'll just be...fine with dismantling your mother’s empire?”

Roan shrugged. “What I said back there was true. The moment Nia sent me to face the Commander in the arena, I knew that she only saw me as a pawn, not a son. She is perfectly willing to cast me aside and replace me with Ontari, her simpering pet, if she chooses. I owe her no allegiance.”

To Clarke's own surprise, she found her heart stinging with sympathy for him, but now wasn't the time for that. “Very well,” she said. “When the rebellion begins, and we depose the Empress, you need to be prepared to step into the vacuum of power.”

The Prince nodded. “I'll be ready.”


End file.
